Brother, Dear Brother
by amethyst noir
Summary: A known stalker, Isaac Randal, is back and has a new plan: To teach Frank Hardy a lesson about true brotherhood and friendship. But this time Joe has become the deranged teacher's latest example; a pawn in the mad man's recent obsession: Frank.
1. Part I

**A/N:** This is just a taste of the newest story from me...Spion din Romania is almost finished and this is the next yarn I plan to spin. Any feedback would be great, thanks! So, without further ado, I give you...

* * *

_Brother, Dear Brother_

_Listen when I say_

_I will be by your side _

_Until our final day._

_...  
_

**"Brother, Dear Brother**"

**Preface:**

_"Isaac Randal was apprehended today after allegedly kidnapping twenty-one year old Frank Hardy. Mr. Hardy is recuperating and is pressing charges of assault and kidnapping against Randal. Randal is said to be mentally unbalanced, but the Bayport PD is refraining anymore information at this time..."_

_Frank Hardy sat in the hospital waiting room, absently staring at the cast on his wrist, once in a while his gaze drifting to the bandage wrapping his leg or the television screen blaring the local five o'clock news. _

_He was waiting to see Callie. She was being discharged today, just a few hours after he had been. He'd been so worried about her after the car crash Randal had caused. Now he only blamed himself, finding it hard not to drown in self pity. The deranged man had been after him, and Callie had almost payed the ultimate price._

_"Hey, Frank," Joe spoke softly, so as not to startle his deeply disturbed brother._

_Frank blinked, slowly, as if coming out of a trance. _

_"C'mon," Joe urged in his gentlest voice. He reached out to touch Frank on the shoulder, but the older boy flinched back._

_"Hey, hey hey," Joe slowly held his hands out in front of him. "Frank, it's just me. Joe. You're safe here. Randal can't get to you now."_

_Frank shook his head, wincing as it set off a round of dizziness. His breathing quickened and Frank mumbled something Joe couldn't make it out._

_"What?"_

_The older brother looked up from lowered lashes at Joe. "He said it's not over," Frank murmured. His brown eyes were haunted._

_"Oh god, I think I'm gonna be sick," Frank growled, his face blanching._

_Joe worriedly touched his arm again. Frank once again jerked away, swearing under his breath when his sore body protested such a sudden movement._

_"Frank, we gotta get you out of here," Joe spoke quietly. He held out his hand, but didn't touch Frank, fearing he might spook him even more._

_"And go where?" Frank's voice was hollow…almost as empty as his eyes had become. He shook his head again, this time guardedly. "I have to see Callie."_

_Joe was starting to get really spooked; his big brother, his hero, his best friend was scaring him. _

_"Can't go home…can't stay here…" Frank continued, his eyes squeezing shut against the vision of Isaac Randal._

_"You're coming home with me," Joe interrupted him._

_"Wh-what?" Frank's head shot up, causing another dizzy spell, and Joe was at his side immediately, steadying him._

_"Look, I got a nice couch, and the bed's all yours until we can figure something out," he said. "I don't think you should be alone right now Frank."_

_Frank nodded slowly, knowing his brother was right. _

_"Frank!" Callie's voice, weak but still bubbly like always, rang out into the quiet hospital waiting room. Allowing some of the day's stress leave his shoulders, Frank wrapped the still sore Callie in his arms, his trembling lips brushing the top of her blonde head._

_Vanessa Bender followed not far behind, having stayed with Callie most of the time in the hospital, since Callie's parents had been overseas for the past two months. Joe followed his brother's example. _

_Watching the couple and holding Vanessa closely, Joe knew this was going to be hard on all of them, but he fervently hoped that he would be able to help Frank get over this whole mess...for good..._

_

* * *

_

**Part I:**

Joe Hardy's red, late model pick-up truck pulled into the parking lot at just above the safe speed limit. His year older brother had been sharing an apartment with him for little over seven months. Frank said it was because he missed seeing his younger sibling and wanted to save on rent money.

The younger sibling knew better.

Though Frank wouldn't admit it, Joe knew why he had so abruptly decided to officially move in with him. Less than eight months earlier Frank had been physically and mentally terrorized by a mad man who had been stalking him for an unknown amount of time.

He'd been lucky though. Unlike all of Randal's other victims, Frank had gotten away with a broken wrist, a deep scar on his left calf, multiple bruises and a concussion.

His stalker, Isaac Randal, had been caught, convicted and was serving a life sentence in a heavily guarded mental facility.

But that didn't save Frank Hardy from the perilous mental state he'd been left in. Randal had been obsessed. He wanted to be Frank's friend...like a brother. He'd studied Frank constantly. His likes, dislikes, habits, fears, even his favorite brands of clothing.

He had caused a car accident, resulting in Callie Shaw, Frank's girlfriend to be hospitalized for days. Randal left newspaper clippings of Frank's exploits in the field of criminology as well as his academic achievements at Bayport U in Frank's own mailbox. The psychotic man had even gone as far as to leave death threats in Joe's car and on his apartment door.

After the trial, Frank had decided to take Joe's offer and move in with him. There were too many bad memories at his old place and he felt safer having someone to live with. Frank had been too humiliated to move back in with his parents and he refused to impose on any of his friends, so Joe was his only option.

Not to say Joe was a bad option. It was just, sometimes they had differences in opinion.

"Are you going out tonight?" Joe had been home no more than thirty seconds before Frank started interrogating him about his Friday night plans. Ever since Randal, Frank had been even more protective and worried about his brother. He had to know where he was and how long he'd be there...at all times.

Sighing, Joe opened the only window in the small apartment's front room letting in a warm June breeze. "I might do something with Vanessa later...dinner, a movie maybe."

He watched as Frank started unloading the dishwasher. A small headache formed at the base of his neck. His older brother had become extremely distant over the last months. His grades had slipped, not a lot, but still noticeably. He was working less hours and he'd stopped seeing Callie or Chet and their other friends as often as he used to.

Frank had started reading, _a lot._ Going through books like they were nothing. Sometimes Joe wondered if Frank liked the characters in the novels more than the real people in his life, or if the mystery genres he favored took his mind off other things.

"You and Callie could come with us," Joe suggested amongst the clanking of dishes and silverware. Frank shrugged, not making eye contact.

"Come on Frank. I know Cal really wants to see you," Joe said. He saw Frank's shoulders tighten. Both brothers knew how hard this ordeal had been on Callie.

She had broken her leg, two ribs, and her collar bone in the brutally planned car crash and was lucky to be alive, considering her little Focus was beyond repair. And then after Frank had been held hostage in his own apartment by Isaac Randal, Callie thought for sure she would never see him again.

Through her time in the hospital and the six hours of emotion wrenching waiting for news on Frank, she and Joe had become extremely close. Both sharing devoted ties with the older Hardy. But now, even eight months later, Joe could still see the strain on the young woman's face whenever she looked at Frank.

"When are you leaving?" Frank wondered, still debating about going on a double date with his over zealous brother.

Joe shrugged, a small smile slipping onto his face. "Probably five o'clock...like usual."

Frank sighed and ran a hand threw his brown hair, a habitual action as of late. "I guess I should call Callie." Joe's grin widened.

* * *

"She sounded happy on the phone," Frank said to his brother, grabbing his coat and car keys. He hadn't seen Callie in a couple of weeks and Joe could see the guilt in his eyes. "How is she?"

Joe followed his brother out the door and to the old elevator, pressing the down button. "She's good," he replied quietly. He hadn't seen Callie much either, but considering she was Vanessa's best friend, he felt like he was with her every time he spoke to his girlfriend. "Cal misses you Frank."

He heard a deep sigh as they entered the elevator. "I know Joe."

As the two brothers sauntered casually out to the dusk lit parking lot Joe was thankful they had decided to take Frank's car. He wasn't sure he could handle listening to anymore comments about his horrible choice in used cars. How was he supposed to predict his Chevy would eventually cost more in repairs than it was ever worth?

Frank's silver Mazda was parked two spaces down from the rusty red truck next to a black SUV with tinted windows. Neither brother gave the dark vehicle a second glance as they passed it and Frank unlocked his car.

"You know, I'm glad you decided to come with us..." Frank heard Joe's voice trail off as he started to open the drivers side door. He wasn't paying very much attention to what his brother was mumbling until he heard a loud thump from the other side of the car.

"F-frank--" Joe's shaky voice was abruptly cut off by strong arms around his chest and mouth.

"Let the games begin." An icy, venom filled voice traveled into Joe's ear sending a spasm of fear down his body.

The voice belonged to Isaac Randal.


	2. Part II

**A/N:** Thanks for your reviews/favorites/alerts guys! All are quite appreciated! This story is rolling pretty quickly, so hopefully updates will be pretty steady...so here's part 2...

EDIT: I've changed formatting ever so slightly by chopping this story into longer 'Parts' rather than shorter chapters...I have done this for my own personal reasons and nothing has been changed to the actual words of this story so far...thank you!

* * *

**Part II:**

Frank ran around the car to find Joe face down on the ground, seemingly unconscious, with blood spilling from a nasty looking gash on his temple and a shadowy figure looming over him.

"Joe!--Get the hell away from him!" Frank demanded about to rush the unknown attacker. He had only gotten a step when he heard the familiar sound of a safety being clicked off and stopped short in response. An unwavering gun was mere inches from his face, held confidently by an ecstatic Isaac Randal. Frank could see a stain of blood clinging to the metal.

"Hello Frank, it's been such a long time," Randal smiled, his joy reaching his dark eyes with a sadistic pleasure that made Frank's insides twist.

"Randal? H-how did you get out?" Frank whispered, still in shock. Waves of nervous hysterics hitting him hard from every direction. Upon seeing his former stalker, Frank had been thrown headfirst into his worst memories...and nightmares.

"You remember my name? Thank you Frank," Isaac said sincerely. "But getting out wasn't _that_ hard, psychiatric facilities are pure chaos." He winked and Frank's mouth ran dry. "Sometimes guards get careless; do you know how much a dead body looks like a sleeping one? And then it's easy to get out once you've got the keys," Randal gloated, as if wanting Frank to be proud of him.

Frank tried to form some sort of smile towards Randal, hoping to keep the man's gaze from Joe's still form. Frank was desperate to keep his brother from being exposed to the violent and delusional man.

"What do you want?" The question poured from his lips uncontrollably. A sense of terrified curiosity creeping through Frank's body; he knew he would not like Isaac's answer.

"I want to talk Frank. After all, our previous time together was cut so regretfully short. I feel like there is so much more we can accomplish," Randal said innocently, giving Frank a winning grin that nearly sent the young man's stomach over the edge.

The gun Isaac held never wavered, though. Randal was no longer unsure, or anxious. He knew what he wanted and how to get it. He knew how to get Frank...and what scared Frank the most was that somehow he knew in the back of his mind that Joe was here for a reason.

"O-okay then," Frank said, trying to act as calmly about the situation as possible. "Let's go somewhere and...and talk."

Randal's smile widened, his eyes sparkling with delight and excitement in the shadows cast by the setting sun and darkening surroundings. "Yes. Let's."

Frank tried to edge away from Joe, leading Randal's gaze towards the black SUV from which he had assumedly come from. But the stalker had an air of purpose hovering around him now as his eyes glanced slickly from Frank to the still prone Joe.

"Isaac." Frank tried to get his attention, but the man wasn't listening now. He was intent on carrying out his plan...down to every last minor detail.

"How much younger is he?" Randal asked, his voice frighteningly steady, like he'd rehearsed every line a thousand times before.

A knot grew in Frank's throat. He coughed, then swallowed roughly, breathing as deeply as he could without making anymore sound. "Eleven months."

"That's close," replied Randal, his voice taking on a very interested tone. "You two must be very..._attached_."

Isaac looked up at Frank, expecting a response. The older Hardy stared at him with incredulity. But then, after a moment of uncomfortable staring, Frank nodded slowly. Randal sighed and gave Joe an appraising look, huffed once and leaned forward, taking one of Joe's arms in a vice grip.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Frank asked, taking a quick step forward, only to stop when the gun's barrel made it's newest target Joe's head.

"Well, considering you two are so _inseparable_," Randal spat. "I thought Joseph might want to come along. Now isn't that thoughtful of me, Frank?"

"Isaac, please--"

"Well, you really don't have a say in the matter actually Frank," Randal interrupted, with a slight laugh. He lifted Joe's unconscious form into the back seat of the dark SUV none too gently. Then he and the gun turned back to Frank. "It should be a good learning experience for all of us, don't you think?"

* * *

Callie Shaw paced up and down the front hallway of her apartment, the pre-curled spirals in her dark blond hair loosening with every nervous step. Frank and Joe had been known to be late, but this was getting ridiculous.

It was now half past five and Callie had yet to receive any sort of phone call apologizing for their tardiness. This wasn't like Frank at all--even Joe was more considerate than this. Of course, Frank had changed slightly ever since the car accident and Isaac Randal.

She tensed and un-tensed her shoulders, wanting her buzzer to ring, announcing Frank's arrival, and his voice to speak through the fuzzy intercom. But still it didn't come. Callie couldn't fight the apprehensive thoughts jumping around her head.

The telephone rang and Callie nearly cried out in relief and surprise. She ran to the cordless phone sitting on her coffee table, picking it up with tremulous fingers. "Frank?"

"No Cal, it's me, Vanessa." Vanessa Bender's voice didn't sound any better than how Callie felt.

"Oh, Vanessa! Is Joe there--is Frank?--"

"No. No Callie they're not. They aren't answering their phones and I haven't heard from Joe since earlier today. I know he's easily side tracked, but a half hour seems a little much." Vanessa was trying to hide the scared quaver in her throat valiantly, but her best friend wasn't easily fooled.

"Should...should we call someone Van?" Callie wondered, quite unsure about the whole situation. Both girls were unsure whether to declare overdue boyfriends as an emergency or not.

"Phil lives around the corner from their place. Maybe he could go see what's up?" Offered Vanessa, feeling it was their only option right now, if not a very good one, and that panicking would only make everything worse.

"Ok. Yeah. That sounds good." Callie blinked back unshed tears, feeling silly and hoping this all really was just an overreaction. But considering what had happened to them all only eight months before, the blond thought that she was afforded a bit of uneasy suspicion.

* * *

"Hold out your hands," Randal ordered Frank. He'd already attached a set of handcuffs tightly to Joe's wrists behind his back. Hesitantly Frank brought his hands forward, flinching ever so slightly as Randal touched his skin. The metal clamped hard onto Frank's wrists biting into the sensitive skin; Isaac gave no recognition that his captive was in any pain. Though Frank's hands were in front of him, unlike his brother's, it still didn't supply him much of an advantage over the gun wielding Randal.

Throughout his time in prison, even in the psych ward, Isaac Randal had apparently started a heavy work out regiment. New muscles bulged from beneath the gray cotton dress shirt he wore, and it was obvious that he was stronger than either of the brothers now. Frank inwardly screamed at the thought of what Randal had in mind for their 'lessons.'

"Where are we going Isaac?" Frank asked quietly, not wanting to stir any unwanted emotions within the unstable man, especially with his brother unconscious in the back of the man's car.

Randal silently led Frank to the passenger side of the SUV and helped him inside. "It's a surprise Frank. Patience now." Immediately after Isaac had closed the door Frank spun around to look at Joe. His face was slightly paler than usual and the deep cut on his forehead was still bubbling slightly with dark red blood.

"Joe? Joe, please wake up," Frank begged softly as Randal walked slowly around to the driver's side door. Joe didn't respond. The door opened and Frank faced the man, worry lining his face.

Randal noticed Frank's agitated state and as he closed his door, glanced back at Joe. "That's a deeper nick than I thought." He looked back at Frank, not an ounce of regret in his expression. "But, he'll live."

Frank faced forward, watching the dark lit streets as Randal navigated them away from the downtown district of Bayport. He couldn't allow the crazed stalker to see the look of fear flashing across his face; it would only fuel the man's insane thoughts.

"Isaac, please. I'll go with you...anywhere you want. But please, Joe isn't a part of this...just--just let him go," Frank whispered, still refusing to face Randal, who was now clenching the steering wheel in a brutal grip.

"But Frank." Randal's voice had taken on a slightly higher pitch to it, trying hard to keep his tone even. "Joseph is part of the _plan_."

"Plan? Plan! What is this plan of yours, Isaac? Scare the hell out of me so I'll crack and be your best friend or something?" Frank had lost all control now, his nerves taking over. But just as soon as he had started his rant, Frank went back to his panicked, introverted state. "I-I'm sorry--"

"You seem a little _stressed_, Frank." Randal had taken on a terrifyingly calm, but hostile state. His driving became more erratic. "Maybe we will have to start our lesson a bit early." His gaze flickered to the rearview mirror and Joe's vulnerable form.

"I'm sorry, Isaac, I didn't mean--" But Frank was cut off by a soft groan from the back seat. Frank turned around instantly gazing at his brother through darting, frightened eyes.

Joe gasped, his eyes opening wide as he came back to consciousness. "Frank?--Frank!"

But before Frank could calm Joe, Isaac Randal spoke first. "Welcome back to the land of the living _Joseph_."


	3. Part III

**A/N: **Ok, this is the brutal part, where the true insanity comes out...enjoy...

PS - also for those fans of Spion din Romania, I will be out of town for the weekend and so it will not be updated until early next week. Sorry but thanks for your commitment!

* * *

**Part III:**

"Randal!" Joe gasped as his memory slowly flitted back to him.

"Good evening Joseph," Randal responded, no sense of actual kindness in his tone. "How's your head?"

Joe just groaned in response. There was a heavy silence that filled the car. It ticked on for minutes, until a very annoyed and slightly out of it Joe spoke up again. "Where the heck are we going?"

"None of your business," Randal barked, now irritated by Joe's bluntness.

"Who the hell do you think you are? Let us go...you...you psycho!" Joe clearly did not understand the direness of the situation at hand. Isaac Randal was a very unstable man, not one to be taunted. Frank knew his brother was on thin ice.

"Shut up Joseph!" Randal yelled, causing both brothers to jump. Frank turned to face Joe, but Randal gave him an icy glare. Frank gave his brother an apologetic look and turned forward again.

Isaac started to make small talk with Frank, trying to get the young man's attention away from the fuming and bleeding blond in the back seat. He was acting as if it were a friendly joy ride and not a kidnapping. Joe started up again, exasperated by Randal's crazed views of Frank.

"Listen Randal--" But Joe didn't get any further with his impulsive argument.

"Shut him up Frank, or I swear to god I'll do it permanently, right now!" Randal was shaking with surprisingly renewed anger.

"J-Joe please," Frank warned the younger Hardy.

"But Frank--"

"Joe." Frank's voice was firm and unwavering. He had to get through to his brother, not knowing what the exact consequences of Joe's hot head would be this time around.

Joe closed his mouth, a tremor of unease running through his cramped muscles. His head was still throbbing, but now with renewed fervor. Randal was insane and he knew it, but what scared him the most was how terrified Frank was acting.

"Good." Randal smiled, the deranged gleam returning to his unlit eyes. "Now, Frank. I understand you are still seeing that young woman, Miss Shaw, was it?...How absurd of you...she is so _weak_..."

* * *

Callie was nursing her second cup of tea, trying to calm the nerves threatening to spill out in the form of tears at any second. Since Frank had been kidnapped by Isaac Randal earlier that year, she had been so much less naive and much more protective over her boyfriend. The same way Frank felt towards her she assumed.

Vanessa had arrived at Callie's apartment a few minutes after she'd called Phil Cohen, one of the brother's closest friends. Callie felt slightly better having Vanessa close, but she still couldn't fight the inkling of horror building inside of her.

After Phil had checked in at Frank and Joe's building, finding no answer from their apartment, their cell phones, or their landline, and finding both of their cars in the parking lot, he'd also joined Vanessa at Callie's home, trying to comfort the panicking girls.

He closed his cell phone quietly, having informed the police of the Hardy's disappearance and walked over to the kitchen table that held a blank looking Callie. Vanessa lingered close to her friend, her eyes slightly red and puffy.

"The police can't actually declare them missing until twenty-four hours have passed," Phil informed them. He sat down across from Callie as she looked up at him, something strange hiding behind her eyes.

"Who came up with that idiotic rule?" she shouted, her voice croaking as she did so. Phil cleared his throat and looked up cautiously at Vanessa.

Callie stuttered. "I-I'm sorry, it's just, I'm worried...you know?"

"It's okay Cal, we understand. We're worried too," Vanessa consoled.

"What about Laura and Fenton?" Callie wondered, trying to get her mind on something else, but not accomplishing it very well.

"Con Riley said he'd inform them," Phil answered softly. "I'm sure everything will be alright," he added unconvincingly, looking quite uncomfortable. He pushed his plastic framed glasses up on his nose, looking at both distraught women.

"Phil's right," Vanessa nodded. "We can't jump to any conclusions...just yet Cal."

"I know." Though Callie didn't seem to agree with what she was saying. All she wanted now was to see Frank--and Joe--walk through her front door, unharmed and _just really late._

* * *

Frank surmised that they had been driving for little under an hour, southbound on the freeway, before Joe interrupted Randal's mainly one-sided, berating conversation again.

"Frank?"

Frank saw Randal's muscles tense up and his expression turn from one of interest and enjoyment to one of extreme vexation. Though the man didn't say anything in response to Joe speaking, so Frank took the opportunity to see how his brother was fairing.

He turned slightly, so he could see Joe's face. "Yeah Joe?"

"I-I'm sorry but, do you think, maybe, we could do something a-about this cut. It's really beginning to hurt Frank. I think it might be infected."

Frank's heart sank as he heard his brother stumble slowly through his plea. Joe's pallor had blanched even more, though the 'cut'--which was more of a deep gash--had finally stopped bleeding so much and looked to be attempting to scab over. But the skin around the wound had an ugly tint to it that made Frank cringe.

Frank looked to the driver's seat. "Isaac? Please."

"No."

"But Isaac--"

"I said _no._" The gleam in the mad man's eyes had now been replaced completely with a shadow of maniacal anger.

"Isaac, please. Look, you want me to cooperate, right? You want me to be happy when we talk, right? Then let me look at Joe's head. That's all I'm asking for. Five minutes. Please. It's dark out, hardly any traffic...please," Frank begged Randal with all his strength. He had to assure Joe that everything would be alright. He needed to make sure Joe's head wound wasn't going to turn into anything worse than a nasty cut.

Randal fixed Frank with a steady glare, but uttered a single, grudging word. "Fine." He pulled onto the shoulder and stopped the car. Frank started to breath again.

"First aid kit is in the back," Randal muttered, looking disgusted with himself for even considering being kind to Joe.

"Thank you," Frank replied calmly, though anxious excitement was welling beneath his stoic expression. Frank watched as Randal got out of the car, walking around to the front and lighting a cigarette. Apparently that was also a knew habit of his from prison.

Frank jumped out of the car and opened up the back, pulling a small white box from the floor. He then wrenched open the back seat door closest to Joe's head and looked down at his brother.

Joe looked as though he was holding up fairly well, except for his white face, bloody temple and the slight hint of trepidation in his blue eyes. "Hey bro...thanks." Joe paused for a second, thinking. "Are you okay?"

Frank wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry. Here Joe was, with an infected head wound, handcuffed in the back of a murdering psycho's car and he was asking if _Frank_ was okay. "I'm fine Joe, but you don't look so hot."

Joe grunted. "It's s'nothing," he slurred. On top of everything the younger Hardy looked extremely exhausted.

"Doesn't look like nothing to me," Frank said softly, smiling at his brother's attempt at a nonchalant attitude. He had a hard time maneuvering his hands to inspect Joe's injury with his wrists cuffed together.

After a couple minutes of silence Frank had managed to clean the cut while trying to ignore Joe's complaints and wincing and but an adequate bandage over the wound.

"How does that feel?" Frank asked. Joe nodded, "Fine."

There was another beat before Joe spoke again. "Frank? What does Randal want with us?"

Frank wasn't sure how to answer the abrupt question. His gaze look to the front of the car. He could see Isaac's silhouette through the windshield. "Um--I think he wants to talk...and he said something about a plan...something about having more to accomplish...with me...I guess."

"Oh." Joe eyes looked away from Frank. "And...and what about me?"

"I don't know Joe. God I'm sorry I got you into this--"

"No." Joe sounded as though he had regained some of his energy back. "Don't apologize to me Frank. We're in this together. It's no one's fault...except maybe _his_." Joe's eyes also found Randal's figure through the windshield.

"It's alright Joe. Everything's gonna be okay. You trust me right?" Frank tried to console any worries his brother had, though his insides were fighting against everything Frank was saying.

"Yeah. Of course I trust you Frank--"

"How touching." Isaac Randal's forbidding voice seeped in from behind Frank. "But it's time to get going."

Frank gave his brother's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before standing next to Randal. "I don't know why you care so much about this _brat_," Randal bit out at him.

Something inside of Frank Hardy snapped. Ignoring the gun in Randal's hand, the vulnerable Joe, and the handcuffs on his wrists, Frank lunged for Randal's neck. Caught off guard Isaac fell backwards under Frank's assault.

"No!" Randal yelled, slamming the gun into Frank's temple, though not creating a gash like he'd done on Joe's. Frank's head swam and dizziness threatened his vision. Randal scrambled back into a standing position, pointing the gun at Joe's head, who had been cussing profusely at Randal during the whole--albeit short lived--incident. But when the metal barrel came in contact with his skin, Joe's next words caught in his throat.

"Isaac, no." Frank's voice was small but fervent.

"Why not Frank? Why shouldn't I kill him? You don't seem to value his life anymore, not after attacking me! Your actions have consequences Frank, didn't anyone ever teach you that?" Randal rambled on, his face growing a livid red.

"Please," Frank begged, feeling awful about pleading with the psychopath but having nothing else left in him. "Please don't. I promise I'll be good. I promise."

Frank hoped against hope that Isaac didn't have it in him to kill Joe...just yet at least. He was part of the man's sick plan, he wasn't supposed to die yet. He just needed to calm the man down.

Randal, looking hesitant and still quite indignant, reluctantly lowered the pistol from Joe's forehead. Frank thought he heard a small gasp of relief from his younger brother, but was quickly distracted by Randal.

"Get up. Get in the car. _Now_." Frank could do nothing but oblige.

While Frank walked around to the other side of the car, Isaac picked up a roll of duct tape from one of the seat wells and showed it to a still recovering Joe. He ripped off a large piece and roughly covered Joe's mouth with it.

Joe glared daggers at the man, while Randal smiled mercilessly down at his captive. "That'll keep you from interrupting our nice conversation again." And with that he slammed the back door and climbed into the drivers seat as Frank sadly snapped on his seat belt, a tremor of new horror traveling through his body as Isaac Randal started the car and again began heading in the direction of their unknown destination.

* * *

Nearly two hours later Isaac Randal finally drove down a short off ramp; it was a quiet, desolate exit. The night was now an inky black and the only light afforded to them was the moon and a few flickering street lamps here and there.

Randal navigated his way through a few rundown streets. Many of the buildings lining the road had boarded up windows and doors, the concrete sidewalks looking dirty and cracked.

Frank sat uncomfortably staring at his cuffed hands in his lap. The ride had been silent ever since Frank's outburst and Randal's good mood had yet to return. Though his annoying little smirk was slowly seeping back onto the man's face as they drove deeper into the deserted town.

Frank had risked glancing back at Joe only once during the rest of the trip and found his brother's eyes closed and his breathing easy. He was glad that Joe was able to rest...it would be better that he had more energy for what was to come. Although Frank hoped it wasn't nearly as bad as what his imagination had been conjuring up during the long ride.

"Here we are," Randal said quietly, under his breath, though Frank heard every word clearly. The knots in his stomach grew. Isaac had just pulled into the parking lot of a neglected looking, ramshackle motel. Most windows had plywood nailed across them or were broken and shattered. The old brown paint was peeling and the neon sign was out of use and hanging crookedly from it's perch on a large pole above the establishment.

Frank swallowed the lump in his throat. "Where are we?"

"Explanations will come later, Frank." Randal parked the SUV and removed the keys from the ignition. "Come on, let's go inside."

Frank and Randal exited the car, Frank more slowly, steeling a glance at his brother, who's eyes were now open and imploring. Frank felt the creases in his forehead as worry took over the whole of his emotions again.

"Isaac--"

"Don't worry about _him_. Joseph will come soon enough." Randal said irritated and vague. Reluctantly and not exactly more at ease, Frank closed his door and joined the gun toting Randal who motioned him to go first. "Room six, Frank."

Frank walked to the ground floor room and stood in front of the door, waiting for Randal's next order.

"Go on, it's open." Randal's voice had taken on a sickening giddiness. He followed Frank into the motel room and flipped a wall switch which lit up a tiny overhead light in the center of the room. Frank was surprised to see that the seedy motel still had electricity. His gaze roamed over the room's meager appearance. An old looking box spring bed and a broken coffee table were the only pieces of furniture left. The wallpapered walls were peeling and yellowed and the ceiling had many cracks and holes in it. The floor was dirty cement.

Randal took Frank's arm and led him over to the farthest wall from the door, ignoring the way Frank flinched when he touched him. "Sit," he commanded in an impassive voice. Frank took a breath and sat down on the cool ground next to a broken, glass-less window that let in the warm night's breeze. There were security bars still firmly attached to the window's frame however, which made Frank quite ill at ease.

Randal pointed the gun between Frank's eyes. "Remember. Consequences." Frank nodded slowly. Randal knelt down, keeping the gun in one hand, and unlocked one of Frank's wrists and threaded the cuff through one of the exterior bars and then re-cuffed it to Frank's arm. It happened so fast that even if Frank had been planning to overpower the man, he wouldn't have had any chance.

"There now. Be good while I go and retrieve Joseph," Randal said, with a cheery little grin. He got up and headed for the door, a nasty hop in his step.

"Isaac! Don't do anything to Joe, please!" But Randal was already gone. Frank could only slump against the wall in exasperation. He pulled with all his strength against the cuffs and security bars, but they held strong. He beat the metal in frustration so hard his fists were red and throbbing. All Frank could do now was wait.

* * *

Joe laid still and quiet in the back seat of Randal's SUV--not that he had much choice in the matter--and tried to keep his breathing easy and normal. It wasn't that he was scared of Isaac, it was the man's sensitive, erratic, and delusional personality that made Joe worried.

Though what had Joe most unnerved about the whole situation was that he seemed to be a crucial piece in Isaac Randal's plan to teach Frank some sort of insane lesson. Joe closed his eyes and opened them again, wishing his hands were free so he could rub some of the dryness out of them.

Frank and Randal had been gone for no more than four or five minutes before the door next to Joe's head was pulled open and the car's overhead lights blinked on, illuminating Randal's features into creepy relief.

Joe's muscles automatically tightened. Though his hands and arms were fairly numb, he tried to wriggle some sort of blood flow back into them as Randal looked down at him in disgust. "Time to go Joseph."

Joe severely hoped that Randal was taking him to where ever Frank was now. He wasn't sure that he could handle being alone with this psycho at the moment. Isaac pulled at Joe's arm and collar, until he all but fell out of the car. Once standing, Joe found it hard to keep his balance; his legs were still regaining circulation and strength and his mind was dizzy.

"Pathetic," Randal spat out as he took in Joe's weak and wobbly form. Joe scowled at the man, wishing he was able to retort. "You're lucky that I need you to make Frank understand everything. Otherwise you would have been dead long ago."

Randal, though about an inch shorter than Joe, was still able to look straight into Joe's eyes with a calculating, cold glare. Joe tried his best to hold his own gaze steady, but still he couldn't help feeling less and less brave about the whole predicament.

"Come on," Randal finally growled, pulling Joe along none too gently. The young man stumbled twice along the way to room number six only adding to Isaac's animosity and earning Joe a few extra shoves in the small of his back.

When they entered the decrepit motel room Joe's eyes lit up momentarily when he saw Frank, but immediately were clouded with loathing as he saw his brother's raw and bleeding wrists and how he was chained to the window's security bars.

Frank on the other hand, tried with all his might to put on a comforting face for Joe's benefit, trying to make his little brother feel better and to show him that everything was alright...if only for the moment. But when Randal unceremoniously threw the defenseless Joe to the hard cement all ease was gone from the older Hardy.

"Dammit, Isaac!" Frank yelled at the man, who seemed to be gloating about the pain he had caused Joe. Isaac looked up at the enraged Frank with a petulant expression on his face that quickly turned to an angry sneer.

"Manners, please, Frank." Randal moved his attention back to Joe, who was now staring at the floor, apparently trying hard to ignore the mad man and think of anything else but the throbbing in his head and now bruising shoulder.

"Joe? Are you alright?" Frank asked urgently, ignoring Randal's jealous eyes. Joe nodded vaguely, unable or unwilling to do much else. Frank closed his eyes hard, trying to figure out how the hell this was all happening and how to get out of this mess before it turned into anything more horrible.

But Randal's roaring voice brought him back to reality. "Why the hell do you care about _him_? Look at him, Frank." Randal kicked Joe heavily in the side, causing Joe to curl in on himself as much as possible, his eyes closed, fighting back the pain. Four more kicks to his side and two to his back nearly numbed over the aching. "_He's so weak._"

"Isaac, stop it! Stop! Can't you see this is crazy!" Frank shouted back, desperately pulling at the handcuffs, unaware of the blood or stinging pain. His mind was racing and tears were forming fast in his eyes.

"No Frank," Randal answered thickly, a terrifying mask of insanity covering his face. "I have to teach you, and this is the only way."

Randal grabbed Joe's arm, dragging him across the floor and threw him up against the wall less than a foot away from Frank, but still out of his reach. Randal allowed Joe to slide down the wall into a seated position before his fist made contact with Joe's stomach, making the younger man slump forward, trying to breath deeply.

"Isaac no! Stop this! Please!"

But Randal was blinded by his own delusional state. "This is where I grew up Frank. Horrid, isn't it?" He smacked Joe twice, hard across the face. "My mother...my mother was a _whore_. She never loved me, she tried to, but it was never truly love...just fake attention."

Randal's voice started to quaver. "Sometimes she would even bring her clients back here. She'd hide me in the bathroom...or I would have to stay outside. I had no friends, no father, no _brother_, _no where else to go_." He finally started to ignore Joe, who was still conscious and unfortunately aware of every bit of agony coursing through him. His head wound was bleeding again, the sticky liquid seeping from beneath his crude bandage.

"Isaac, please stop. I-I get it, I'm sorry you had to go through all that, but-but it's not Joe's fault. Please." Frank's eyes prickled with tears as he watched his brother gasp for breath beneath the gag.

"No. You don't understand. Not yet Frank." Isaac stood menacingly over Joe, but the vile glint in his eyes had momentarily dissipated. The man's breathing grew calmer and his face blanched back to it's original color. The rage had passed for now. "But that's okay. I forgive you. I understand now that Joseph is just not enough to get through to you...but you have many others who are important to you, am I correct? Maybe someone of the female persuasion would help you understand better?"

With that Isaac Randal walked silently out the door. Frank heard the sickening sound of the door being locked and then turned his misted gaze back to Joe. Their eyes locked; blue ones filled with pain, brown filled with remorseful guilt and confusion. Joe allowed his weakened body to fall towards Frank, his head landing on his brother's shoulder softly.

"I'm so sorry Joe...I'm so so sorry."


	4. Part IV

**A/N:** Thank you for your reviews! I really appreciate them! Also, per request, a little sequence involving Frank's first kidnapping by Randal...enjoy...

* * *

**Part IV:**

_Frank tried to open his eyes._

_But at the moment, pain was all that seemed to register. He tried to move his right arm, but groaned and stopped. His wrist was aching, his leg hurt as well. With his non-injured arm, he felt his calf._

_It was sickeningly warm and sticky. Blood._

_Frank tried to sit up. A throbbing discomfort hit him directly in the chest. He winced; some of his ribs must have been bruised or broken._

_"Sorry, Frank. Are you alright?" a voice apologized from somewhere else in the room. Frank's brown eyes shot wide open. He looked around carefully, finally noticing the dark figure watching him casually._

_Frank swallowed. Maybe a little too hard._

_"Who...who are you?" Frank wondered, hoping his voice was as firm as he wanted it to be. He heard the small man laugh--but it wasn't like he was amused, it was like he was...insulted._

_"Who am I?" the man mocked. "You must have hit your head harder than I thought." A lamp flickered on, and Frank finally saw the man, who was standing closer to him than he thought._

_Isaac Randal._

_Kidnapper. Stalker. Murderer. Psycho. _

_"So what hurts?" Randal picked up a roll of bandages and moved towards Frank, who tried to sink backwards into the uncomfortable couch he was sitting on._

_"I'm okay," Frank said quickly. His eyes darted frantically about, trying to locate an easy escape._

_"Frank, please." Randal smiled. "It's clear that you're not 'okay.'"_

_Before Frank could object, Randal was next to him, already starting to bandage his sore, bruising wrist._

_His gaze then moved to Frank's leg. "That's a nasty cut." Isaac moved to examine it, but Frank jerked back._

_"Uh, actually," he coughed. "Do you have a bathroom I can use?"_

_Isaac nodded and pointed to a small room down a narrow hallway. Frank got up slowly, not wanting to alarm the unstable man._

_He shut the door behind him and gasped, a small cry escaping his mouth. His chest heaved as panic swept over him._

_What the hell do I do? He seems so harmless...but...I know better...I've seen the reports...Oh God...Get a hold of yourself!_

_Frank took a look at himself in the mirror. He looked exhausted, pale, worried. His eyes traveled down to the stinging in his leg, the clotting gash certainly was ugly._

_Alright. You can handle this, Hardy. You've dealt with worse, right?_

_He took a deep breath and reached for the door._

_When Frank walked silently into the hallway, he could make out sounds from the kitchen and thanked God for letting Randal be distracted._

_Frank moved as quickly and quietly as he could, ambling to the front door. He could still hear the clatter of dishes in the kitchen and wondered vaguely if Randal was preparing dinner for the two. The thought made him quiver._

_He finally reached the front door, but froze._

_There were four different locks._

_"You need the keys to leave, Frank."_

_He jumped, spinning around. But he wasn't met with Randal's sick grin or angry eyes, but with his surprisingly strong fist. _

_

* * *

_

Frank Hardy woke with a start, terrified and gasping.

Joe's calm breathing faltered for a moment, but he didn't quite wake up. Frank was grateful that he hadn't disturbed his brother; sleep was an important thing at the moment...for both of them.

As well, he was thankful that Joe's breathing was more even than it had been all night, Frank having been able to remove the duct tape gag without much protest from his already sore sibling.

Frank sighed, gulping back choking tears that threatened to spill as his nightmare came flooding back to him. He had kept thinking, kept hoping that if he fell into a peaceful sleep that when he woke up this would all go away like a bad dream. But it didn't and so far his rest was far from tranquil.

He fitfully tugged at the still present reminder of Randal's maniacal insanity around his wrists. Of course it was a futile action, but in some sense it made him feel better. Like he wasn't just sitting here waiting for the worst--and inevitable--to happen, but trying with all his might to free Joe and himself. Needless to say 'all his might' wasn't going to cut it this time.

Frank leaned his head back against the wall, closing his red rimmed eyes tightly and holding back every emotion threatening to break the dam at any moment. It was his fault. It was all his fault...if Joe hadn't been with him...but what if Joe had ended up going out alone? What then? What if Randal...had killed him?

Enough! Frank yelled subconsciously to himself. To hell with 'what ifs.' This is the present and this crisis is happening _now_. There is nothing you can do to change that.

As if sensing Frank's tensed, angered state Joe's eyes blearily opened, taking in the disheveled appearance of his brother through narrow, tunnel like vision. His mind registered some sort of danger, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. He was with Frank, he couldn't have been in mortal peril. _He was with Frank._

Then, his eyes widening a fraction, Joe remembered everything.

The pain scorching his body prickled back and his senses awakened. It was a horrible feeling, almost numbingly comfortable, yet excruciating at the same time. He wanted to cry, and that was saying something considering he could barely remember the last time he had openly cried in front of anyone, let alone Frank.

"Frank?" His mouth was dry but at least he was ridden of the unbearable duct tape over his lips.

The older brother opened his eyes as well, coming back to reality, snapping brutally out of his self-berating reverie. "Joe!? I'm here--"

"I know," Joe answered calmly, spooked into composure by Frank's abrupt, shaking reply.

Frank looked apologetically towards his younger brother, words bubbling in his mind but never quite able to make it out of his throat. Joe's face, where it was not livid with bruises, was an unnaturally light hugh and his eyes were spidered with red that circled his sadly translucent blue eyes.

"Joe." It came out as a choke. What was with him? He wasn't usually this emotional...but when it came to Joe his defenses were down and he couldn't help but let everything through.

"I'm okay," Joe whispered unconvincingly, as if he had read his brother's thoughts as easily as an open book. He looked at the handcuffs still wrapping their vicious, binding metal around Frank's raw wrists. "I just...we just need to get out of here."

Frank couldn't stop the ghost of a smile that slithered onto his own paling face. "I know." He gave another useless tug at the cuffs. "I'm working on it."

Joe let out a nearly silent laugh, but his eyes now sparkled genuinely. "Frank--"

"I'm really sorry Joe..." Frank's voice was back to being crackly and unrecognizable. It terrified Joe that his brother was already breaking down this early...if Frank was panicked and vulnerable, what did that leave Joe as? He rarely was the one _giving_ support...he was used to being _supported_. But when an apology started to slip out of Frank's mouth something inside of Joe clicked.

"Don't you _dare_ apologize for him, Frank." Joe's voice was thick, heavy with grief, pain, and surprising disdain. "Don't you dare. You _cannot_ apologize for him Frank. In no way is this your fault...it's that delusional bastard's. Don't ever think you have to apologize for him Frank...please. I will not accept one. This is not your fault." Joe paused to take a steadying breath before continuing. "This is not _your_ fight or _my_ fight...if anything it's _our_ fight."

"Joe--"

"No. I don't want to hear it," he said stubbornly. "There is no way in hell that any of this is your fault so there is absolutely no need for an apology..._ever_."

After a moment of impenetrable silence Frank finally spoke. "Okay."

Simultaneously both brothers sighed quietly to themselves. Frank because he felt as though a burden had been lifted from his shoulders and Joe because he could now revert back to his minimally amicable state and not have to endure that discussion again..or at least for the time being.

The sun, having just risen over the horizon, peeked into the front window of the rundown motel room signifying morning. The sky was clear and orange and made the brothers long even more for freedom. Frank pulled once more at the handcuffs, now merely out of habit.

"Joe--" Frank started to say, but his wondering thought was cut of by the younger Hardy, as if, again, he'd understood what he was about to suggest.

"No way am I leaving you here with that psycho Frank...even if I could get away...there's no way..." Joe wasn't even looking at Frank as he spoke. His gaze was meandering across the meager landscape they could make out through the motel's window. The sun rose slightly higher.

"I understand Joe. I just...feel so helpless," Frank huffed, resting his head back against the yellowed wall again. His arms ached from being held in such an awkward position and he felt like he needed get up and stretch his legs, walk around. Plus he was still exhausted. A night full of nightmares, real or not, will do that to you, he thought to himself, wryly.

But then a feeling of guilt washed over him. If _he_ was uncomfortable surly Joe was hurting even more. How could he be feeling sorry for himself when his baby brother was the one enduring all of the real physical trauma?

As Frank guilt tripped unnecessarily, Joe was trying hard to think of anything else but the throbbing in his arms and ribs--the stinging of his face was practically benumbed by now. If he could somehow just get the cuffs off of Frank, or break the iron bars...or...or somehow develop super human strength! He laughed bitterly to himself...but this was truly outrageous...he deserved to be thinking slightly off kilter, considering everything that had happened to him in the last several hours.

"I know...." Joe whispered to his brother, the sudden spine-chilling reality of the situation clouding over his head once again.

* * *

Aching, weary, and bleary eyed the three anxious friends sat around Callie's kitchen table all lost in their own thoughts.

Vanessa was thinking weakly about how nice it would be to curl up in front of the TV with Joe and watch a terribly made black and white horror film--the best kind in their opinions. In her mind she decided that that would be the first thing they would do together when Joe turned up...and of course it would be _when_ and not _if_...she was sure of it.

Phil was trying desperately--and unsuccessfully--to stay awake. He'd stayed up all night with the girls to offer whatever moral support he could, though in actuality he was really not used to that sort of thing, but he did his best. So, every couple minutes, his chin resting in his palm, his jaw would slacken and his eyes would droop and everything would become blurry until he had to literally shake himself awake. Any other thoughts beside his apparent lack of sleep running through his mind were directed towards the impending circumstances of his good friends.

Callie on the other hand couldn't even think of such a thing as sleep at a time like this. Similar to Vanessa and Phil she was wondering where Frank and Joe were and if they were okay or not. Her mind was racing with possibilities of the most dreadful kind and hope filled likelihoods. Each hour passed slowly with no word from the authorities or the Hardys and Callie's emotional state was slowly going downhill. She could see a similar look on Vanessa's face shrouded by drooping blond bangs.

Vanessa rubbed her eyes. "Any coffee left Cal?"

Callie looked towards the nearly bone dry coffee pot on the counter next to the refrigerator. "Mmm...no. That was the last of it."

The phone rang, it's shrillness cutting though the habitual quiet and starling all three, especially Phil who had drifted off again. Being the closest to the phone the young man yawned once and answered quietly. "Hullo?"

"Phil? It's Lieutenant Riley."

"Oh...hi Lieutenant." There was a pause and no one spoke. "Con?"

"I managed to bump up the investigation a little. Frank and Joe have been missing long enough to convince _me_ that somethings not right."

"That's great Con." Phil thanked him as enthusiastically as possible considering the situation at hand.

"There's not a lot we can do right now, however. Nothing much but wait," Con replied heavily, sounding as if he too had stayed up all night. It wasn't unusual for the Hardys to attract danger and bad luck...it was something the man had grown somewhat accustomed to over the years...however unfortunate that might have sounded, it was true.

After relating the somewhat reassuring conversation with Con, Phil had an easier time of keeping his eyes open. Though Vanessa was getting progressively more and more agitated and fidgety. Deciding that she needed to do something productive to keep her mind off of things she stood up abruptly. "I'm going out...to buy some more coffee."

"I can come with you," Phil offered, but Vanessa refused to let Callie stay alone, telling him she'd be fine and home in less than half and hour. She just needed some air.

Taking her car keys from Callie's entryway bureau Vanessa left the apartment, feeling weak from lack of sleep, but determined to think only positive thoughts.

How could this be happening? It seemed like only yesterday it was the aftermath of Frank's kidnapping by that stalker Isaac Randal. Vanessa made her way towards her Jeep, mulling everything over in her head. _Isaac Randal...wait a second...could he..._

Muffled footsteps came from behind her and as Vanessa spun around she was met with steely hard eyes that glinted with a terrifyingly mad sparkle. Before she could so much as think to scream Randal had pounced at her, pinning her slim body against the side of her Jeep, a rough hand over her mouth, a pistol in her side.

"Please, I don't really want to hurt you...I just need you to cooperate with me...I just need your help..._Miss Shaw_."

* * *

Frank was about to suggest trying to come up with some sort of plan--maybe not a full proof one--but something that could possibly get them out of the cursed motel when the door opened with a bang, startling both boys into silence.

"Oh Fra-ank," Randal sang as he walked into the room, dragging an air of icy trepidation and a struggling person along with him. Frank and Joe's stomachs dropped.

Ash blond hair fell over her features, but not quiet obscuring her panicked blue-gray eyes. _Vanessa_.

"I've brought a friend," Randal continued, guiding a bound Vanessa closer to the brothers. "Maybe your pretty little girlfriend can help convince you Frank. We've already become fast friends, she thinks I'm great...she's smart...she can help you understand."

"Th-that's not Callie." Frank was stuttering now, uncontrolled guilt and anguish bubbling out of him. He saw Vanessa's eyes, how they bored into his own; they had meaning, a purpose, determination. But Frank couldn't let her be brave. Not now. "That's not my girlfriend," he continued, as if unfazed. "I-I've never seen her before in my life."

Randal looked at Frank, studying his emotionless face. A hint of anger fluttered on the man's features, but was soon distinguished with what looked to be a form of self pity. He was annoyed with himself, mad he had done something wrong, how his plans had so suddenly changed, all due to his own incompetence.

This woman was blond, Callie Shaw was blond...but what shade of blond? He wracked his memory, panicking ever so slightly. She had come out of Callie's apartment building...it had to be her...but...it wasn't. He thought he knew Miss Shaw...but he didn't. He'd seen this girl before though...he was sure of it. Randal looked conflicted, trying hard to think of what to do next.

Then he smiled down at Frank, a simpering, vile smirk. "Then she is no use to either of us." He removed the gun from his pocket, still holding Vanessa in a tenderly firm grip. Frank held his breath, not believing that Randal had the guts to kill an innocent girl.

Isaac brought the gun barrel close to Vanessa's face, grazing her cheek with the cold metal tip. A single tear rolled down her face, but she did not say a word, did not put up a fight.

Frank watched Randal's quivering finger helplessly and heard the safety unlock and saw the pressure start to build on the trigger.


	5. Part V

**A/N:** Woot! New chapter! Sorry for the long wait...hope you enjoy it...

* * *

**Part V:**

Pressure mounted even more against the gun trigger.

"No!" Joe yelled with all his remaining strength. Frank sighed, disheartened...he knew it was coming, he knew it would happen, he couldn't stop Joe from protecting her. He just...wished this whole thing wasn't happening at all.

Randal released his finger from the trigger but still kept the gun poised next to Vanessa's face. An almost unnoticeable smile of satisfaction crept onto his darkening face. "I thought so...Frank," his eyes drifted to the older brother, "Lying isn't nice."

Frank chose not to respond, partially because he was unnerved but mainly because he didn't know _how_ to respond. Randal waited a moment, watching him carefully, then with a very slight sigh of annoyance he brought the edge of the pistol crashing against Vanessa's temple.

She was immediately unconscious, falling back against Randal's body. He laid her gently to the ground, stepping away from her and towards the brothers. Joe, who had bit back a yell as he watched his girlfriend's assault, was now observing the crazed man through blurry, angry eyes. Frank remained calm, not wanting anything he did or say cause Randal to hurt the young woman anymore.

"You're right Frank. Innocent injuries are not what we need here," Isaac said dulcetly. Their eyes locked in a test of wits before Randal's wandered towards Joe.

The younger Hardy had been staring sorrowfully at the ash blond girl laying unmoving several feet away. Her chest showed signs of low yet steady breathing, but the slowly bleeding cut on her head was what scared the young man the most. "Vanessa," he whispered, uncaring that two pairs of eyes were now watching him.

"If I need to use her I will," Randal informed Joe and Frank, though the aforementioned blond wasn't really listening fully. Again Frank said nothing, and a fire could almost be seen burning beneath Isaac's face.

With a growl the unstable man turned on his heel and walked quickly towards the motel door, locking it behind him as he left.

"Joe?" Frank was the first to speak. He looked fearfully at his brother's pale, horror-stricken complexion. "Are you going to make it?"

"I...I don't know," he replied, finally making eye contact with Frank. But then he gazed back at Vanessa, a mixture of dread and audacity pooling beneath his dead looking features. "Yes. I have to."

A tiny reassuring smile fell across Frank's face. He was about to agree with Joe when a familiar sound assaulted both their ears. It was a tinkling upbeat tango music that both recognized immediately. Frank was almost scared to hope..."Joe? Is...is that Vanessa's cell phone?"

"Yes!" With a burst of adrenaline, forgetting his injuries, Joe scooted towards Vanessa's lanky, unconscious form. There, laying next to her right leg was a small, silvery cell phone, it's screen glowing green.

"Slide it over to me Joe, quick." Frank caught the small phone with his foot as Joe turned part of his attention to Vanessa. Frank was barely able to reach the phone with his hands, but pulling his wrists as far as he could his fingers finally grasped the device.

He flipped the phone open fast, hoping that it hadn't gone to message yet because he had no way of knowing how long Randal would be gone for. "Hello?"

"Van--Wait...Frank? Is that you? What--" Frank didn't have time to answer Phil Cohen's questions.

"Phil, yeah it's me. Listen I need you to call the police. It's Isaac Randal, he has me and Joe and now Vanessa. We're off of the 105 somewhere...like an old rundown city in this motel..." Unfortunately Frank didn't have time to tell his friend anything else because Randal walked into the room, slamming the door back against the wall, sending a spray of dust and dirt into the air around him. His knife had now made an appearance, his pistol thankfully forgotten, as if he wanted to do any form of harm _himself_ and not give the joy up to a mere, unfeeling mechanism.

He advanced towards Frank, his eyes simmering with an unhidden rage. His abrupt conversation with Phil now forgotten, Frank was doing his best to reason with the psychotic man.

"Please, Isaac, it's not--"

"Frank," Randal growled, slashing the knife near the young man's face.

"No!" Joe's shoulder collided hard with Randal's side, throwing the man off balance and forcing the knife out of his hand; it skittered across the floor a few vital feet away. Joe had managed to somehow, in the small amount of time allotted to him, pull his cuffed hands in front of him, giving him a better advantage.

But Isaac Randal wasn't having any of it. "Joseph! You're _not_ playing fair!"

His foot crashed into Joe's already bruised ribs, bringing the younger man down, gasping.

"Joe!" Frank cried out, unfortunately ignoring Phil's yelling voice on the other side of the phone. His eyes followed his brother's painful movements and Randal's hands as they grasped his knife once again. "Randal...don't!"

But Frank's words went unheard by the exasperated man. His mind was focused on his crazy delusions and nothing--especially not the injured brat laying before him--was going to stand in his way.

His fist landed itself in the small of Joe's back, sending him crashing all the way to the floor. Joe squeezed his eyes shut at the new shock of pain.

"Randal! Leave him alone!" For once, Frank was able to draw Randal's attention to himself when he turned away from Joe to march quickly to Frank, immediately grabbing the forgotten cell phone that still echoed Phil's voice on the other line from the older Hardy's trembling hand. He threw it to the ground violently stepping on it and crushing it instantly. Randal grasped Frank's shirt collar, showing more aggression and anger towards him than he ever had before.

"Who did you talk to?" Isaac demanded, his voice no more than a hiss from under his laboring, vexed breath.

Frank thought for a long, silent moment. He could see Joe from behind Randal's form, slowly but surely recovering and pushing himself up gently with the palms of his still cuffed hands. Frank's gaze came back to Randal's with brutal furtiveness. "No one."

Isaac's face twisted into a sneer as he growled lividly. But Frank's smug victory didn't last long when Randal targeted Joe once more. Grasping his knife tight from the short struggle before, he grabbed Joe's arm, pulling him back, causing the younger man to lose his balance. Then Randal straddled Joe's hips and pulled his head back, pressing the edge of the knife against the blond's exposed neck.

Randal's cruelly glowing eyes slid to Frank's face. "Who. Did. You. Talk. To?" the man repeated harshly, pricking at Joe's flesh.

"I-It was just my friend. Phil Cohen," Frank admitted quickly, fearful of this new punishment involving Joe's death.

"What did you say to him?" Randal asked, pushing the blade further and causing Joe to breathe even more shallowly. The younger Hardy closed his eyes softly, trying to place himself anywhere but there. He wondered if he was going to die today, right then, in the next minute. He prepared for the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel and the flash of his life before his eyes. Joe hoped that it left out this day, Iola's death, and his entire nerd year of sixth grade.

"Nothing...!" The knife dug in even harder, a trickle of crimson danced down Joe's neck right before Frank's terrified eyes. "I-I just told him we were somewhere along the 105, that's it, I swear! Please Isaac, let him go! You'll kill him! I promise they won't be able to find us, the 105 goes for hundreds of miles!"

Frank was sputtering, drowning in a sea of guilt, anger, and ice like horror. This was undoubtedly the worst day of his life to date.

Randal's face was blank, staring at the older, trembling Hardy for a long, horribly silent moment. "Alright," he finally replied. His grip on Joe loosened a fraction, but the knife was still hovering just above his throat, reminding Frank of the ever present consequences to any of his disagreeable actions. "But remember, that's one strike against you Frank. I'm already at the end of my rope."

"Isaac. Just tell me what you want and let's get on with it please. Leave Joe out of this." Frank had obviously reached his end of the rope long ago, but anything was worth a try now. "Please. This is not what friends do," he said, trying to appeal to Randal's psyche. "Friends forgive each other. Now please, forgive me and let's move on."

Isaac turned from Frank and stared at Joe's face as he considered this, watching his eyes close as the pressure of the knife eased off even more and his breathing became normal once more. He ran the blade slowly over the younger Hardy's face.

"You're right Frank, that is what friends do. But _this_ isn't my friend." With a devilish flick of his wrist the knife cut across Joe's cheek, making a bloody gash from chin to cheek bone. Joe gasped and turned away, his eyes opening to the stinging pain.

"Please," Joe said, nearly inaudible to either pair of listening ears in the room. "Please, stop." It was louder now, his voice reinforced with a courageous bravado that Frank hadn't heard for a while.

Joe just wanted this to all be over, and when it did he preferred to come out alive. But along with Randal and Frank, he too was simply fed up and any ounce of fear or caution he had left had now vanished.

"Listen Randal...Isaac...whatever...I think this is all a little unnecessary. A little, how can I put this...melodramatic? You want a friend? Okay, you got it. In fact, you can have two, that's better than one, right? And I'm pretty sure after we get past all this and you get to know me a little, you'll find I'm a pretty damn good guy. Hell, I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed all of the time, but you'd be lucky to have me on your team any day and I think I'm a fairly damn good detective, friend, _and_ brother if I do say so myself."

A sad laugh escaped Frank's throat at Joe's weak, ridiculous attempt to talk averagely to the psychotic man. They were all such ludicrous things to say to someone with a knife poised to kill. But it was so very Joe. And then suddenly Frank hated Isaac Randal more than ever.

Isaac's face contorted in anger, not at Joe's pathetic monologue, but at the fact that Frank was still focused fully on the brat beneath him. His laughter, no matter how small, was an indication of how Frank's attention was still so divided.

A maliciously, gruesome sneer spread across Randal's face as he gazed down at Joe, who's own face was devoid of any emotion, his darkening eyes staring impetuously upward at nothing in particular past Isaac's right ear. The pieces fell shockingly into place for the unstable man.

"It's you," he hissed. Joe's eyes traveled lazily back to meet Randal's, barely registering the fiery essence beneath their depths. "It's your fault."

Joe's voice rose from a monotone as he spoke with slight more emotion than his features registered. "You're nuts...what..." But the knife reappearing at his throat cut his accusations off abruptly.

"Isaac..." Frank's voice was threatening but still weak and it didn't have the impact he hoped it would.

"It's you...you..." Isaac's gaze focussed only on the growing reaction of horror in the blue eyes below him and his knife slowly pressed down, finally cutting into Joe's breathing.

Frank watched helplessly, struggling against the cuffs holding him prisoner and yelling anything he could think of at the man literally holding his little brother's life in his hands.

If there truly was a place called hell, Frank Hardy had found it.

* * *

Footsteps and yells echoed over the line as Phil listened to what was taking place on Frank's end. His fingers gripped the phone in his hand until his knuckles were white. "Frank! Can you hear me? Are you all right? Frank!"

The last footstep landed and was followed by a loud crunch and then the horrifying sound of a dial tone. They were cut off.

Phil ran a shaking hand through his curly sand colored hair, his eyes staring past Callie's confused, pale looking face. He'd called Vanessa just to check in on her, considering her absence had been longer than planned. This had not been what he was expecting.

Phil blinked still staring in shock at the far wall of the kitchen for a moment, processing what he had heard before meeting Callie's questioning gaze.

"What is it?...Phil?" her voice trembled.

Phil put the phone down slowly, taking a deep breath before answering. "I don't think we have much time."


	6. Part VI

**A/N:** Sorry it took so long! But here it is, well, sorry that it's slightly short...enjoy!...

edit: potentially going to make this story longer than the originally planned 7 parts...good for everyone? yes? lol...ok :)

* * *

**Part VI:**

Frank felt as if his whole world was crashing down around him. Every last bit of his composure finally imploded leaving him with one singular emotion: fury.

"Isaac, stop." The angry confidence echoing in his rough voice surprised even himself. But, Frank was not through and Randal was finally listening to his words. Even Joe, who was counting down his seconds left to live gave all of his attention towards his older brother.

"Frank..." Joe's voice was no more than a quiet, gurgling hiss. Frank smiled wearily, wondering if his brother could ever leave well enough alone and give his impulsively protective mouth a break.

"No, Joe. I'm going to handle this." Frank's brown eyes seemed to burn to ebony chocolate as he turned to their unstable captor. "Randal, if you so much as make another prick on my brother, so help me God I will never be your friend, any sort of brother to you, I will never even acknowledge your presence on this earth."

The power of Frank Hardy's statement was resonant, violent, and commanding.

Isaac Randal stopped all movement in his body, barely even breathing. The fingers curling brutally around the murderous knife slackened slightly and his wild eyes drew back into the shadows of his crazed visage. The man was, if nothing else, in a state of complete shock.

Disregarding ever ounce of loathing, ire, and burning annoyance flowing through him, Randal slowly met Frank's blazing eyes, the weapon at Joe's throat almost completely forgotten, but still pulling at his volatile mind romantically.

He wanted so much to feel the power, pleasure, and scarlet offered to a murderer's emotions. He craved it...but he was also now distracted by Frank's inaccurate, gut wrenching statement.

"Frank...?" Randal's voice, for the first time that day, was sinking below pathetic. His mind rolled and the confusion made his tongue waver for a moment. "You don't...you don't mean that..."

Frank's eyes bore even more savagely into Issac, pooling every ounce of hatred he had towards the man into his accusing, mad gaze. "I do Randal. I mean every ounce of it."

Isaac sputtered finally allowing the once rigid knife to fall from his quivering hand. Frank winced as the knife fell only centimeters from his brother, thankfully nicking him only slightly on the way down. Joe didn't even seem to notice.

"Frank," Randal tried again, but his voice was thick with emotion and raspy, like he was going to break down any moment. He closed his mouth abruptly, swallowing, taking a deep breath and then began once more. "Frank. You are making this very difficult."

Joe, despite his predicament on the floor beneath a quaveringly unstable Isaac Randal, allowed his eyes to roll to the brown spotted ceiling. While the man and his brother stared each other down, Joe's wondering eyes were attracted to a glinting beside his head.

The mid-morning sunlight traveling hesitantly through the motel's barred window was strangely highlighting the silvery knife, the smear of red on its edge glowing crimson.

In that ironically enlightening moment, Joe's mind skimmed through the past hours he had been trapped. Nothing made sense at this moment in time. Randal's psychotic actions were clouding Joe's entire world into one hellish blur of reality. Every bit of his common sense was overrun by impulse and his brain told him simply : "to hell with it."

His whole body weight jerked upwards and to the right, his cuffed hands aiding in Isaac's literal downfall. The man, fairly unbalanced in more ways than one already, lost his center of gravity, unable to stop Joe's inevitable escape from beneath him, Isaac fell hard to the ground on his left shoulder.

Everything from that point on moved in slow motion, as if the whole scene was taking place under water or in a high action thriller on the silver screen.

Joe's foot shot out, more in spiteful anger than self-preservation and hit Randal as hard as his battered muscles would allow him, denting powerfully into the man's solar plexus. Gasping, Isaac made a painful grab for the ankle, but missed, Joe being too quick for his winded opponent.

Determination streaming through him like adrenaline, Joe's fingers clenched the knife's hilt, his wrists still cuffed, making his arms move as one. Randal's eyes, finally settling from his temporary state of mild asphyxiation, closed in on the blond's movements. A throaty growl emitted from the psychotic man's thin lips as he tackled Joe back to the ground, the younger man's back taking the brunt of the attack.

Then suddenly, the silent, slow motion effect that had blanketed the fighting duo was broken by a harrowing shout from their right.

"Stop!" Frank's voice was loud, but fringed with worry. "Randal, stop this now!"

Neither parties took into account Frank's pleas. They were too focused on their opponent's demise to care anymore about the older Hardy's meaningless words.

Joe's knee rammed Randal's already sensitive abdomen, making the man gag and cough, losing part of the strength he was using to pin Joe. Taking advantage of this, Joe pushed upwards with both his hands, now clasping the knife like a sword, towards Isaac's exposed chest.

But Randal recovered too quickly, and clawed forcefully as Joe's oncoming hands, stopping the knife mere inches from his heart. With an earsplitting, manic yell Isaac twisted Joe's wrists painfully, making the younger man's grip slip.

The knife was now anyone's game.

"Damn you...you ruined everything Joseph," Isaac bit out resentfully.

"Well, you didn't really make it too hard," Joe retorted, still derisively sarcastic as ever.

"You are too weak. Why would Frank _ever_ want _you_ as a brother?" Randal's voice was steely, but ever so hesitant, finally feeling the nightmarish plight of the situation.

"I'm a hell of a lot...better...than...you!" Joe grumbled back, fighting with all his pent up strength to keep the blade as far away from him as possible.

Meanwhile, as Randal and Joe fought precariously for control over the deadly knife, Frank's wrists were suffering a brutal onslaught from the biting metal of the handcuffs still chaining him desperately to the barred window.

Gasping, he reigned back tears and bit his tongue, trying hard not to let anything slip that might antagonize Randal anymore...not that that was necessarily even relatively possible.

Breathing still labored and nervous, Frank's eyes roamed the small, dingy motel room. Vanessa's slim body still lay motionless ten feet from him, though he could see her chest moving up and down steadily, her breathing not hindered.

A hopeful smile, small but still noticeable, crept onto Frank's face. Joe had a noble reason for his fight. Two people to protect, two people he felt most protective of. Joe wouldn't let his big brother or his love down. Silently Frank cheered Joe on in his mind, unable to do anything else but watch, the cuffs holding fast.

Joe, in his own mind, was feeling the effects of his rapid adrenaline rush. His arms ached as Isaac pushed and twisted them, trying to gain the upper hand.

"Ready to give up, Randal?" Joe gritted out, trying desperately to distract the man by appealing to his head games.

Randal gave another feral growl, but tried his best to ignore Joe's taunting. His fingers dug viciously into Joe's wrists, cutting off most of his circulation, but still Joe's determination was stronger.

With a quick, but powerful flick, Joe shoved the weapon upwards. Randal's head jerked to the side as the blade attacked his livid face, but wasn't quite fast enough to avoid the knife's sharp edge as it dug a canal of red blood across his cheek.

The amount of anger that one person could have inside of their hearts was shown in surprising relief through Isaac Randal's glowing eyes.

"Isaac! _Enough!_" Frank's voice was bubbling with hatred and warning, but still gruff with pain, fatigue, and emotion, he pulled at the handcuff, feeling the metal start to finally give in. Again Randal ignored him, though the slight twitch of his head gave away that he had heard Frank's small plea.

However, it didn't affect his decision to kill Joe Hardy whatsoever.

Then in one blinding, fairly insignificant motion everything seemed to finally end, the peace of unconscious death taking over one individual in the room, leaving the other two breathless with unshed tears of two different brands of passion.

* * *

The state of unconsciousness was a maddening, yet peaceful place to find oneself in after a greatly harrowing ordeal. Vanessa Bender was slowly finding this out, as her senses and mind awakened stiffly and at their own accord.

Her breaths were calm and even, but her body ached from being held in her position for so long, her arms still secured behind her with what felt like tenuous rope.

All Vanessa could hear clearly at that point was her own breathing, deep, slightly raspy, but nevertheless relaxed, echoing inside her head. All her muscles felt feeble and flimsy as her brain attempted to open her eyes and adjust her arms.

An acrid smell suddenly assaulted her awakening nostrils. A coppery scent that made her nearly conscious body recoil. Her thoughts trembled as the realization of where she was and what was happening hit her full force.

Vanessa's will overrode her body's weakness and pushed her muscle's back to full awareness. Something was wrong, she thought as an involuntary shiver ran through her as she inhaled the smell of blood yet again.

As mist formed behind her eyelids Vanessa forced her blue-gray eyes open to survey the scene around her.

She only had a second to glance through the motel room before a horrified scream wrenched through her throat.


	7. Part VII

**A/N:** An update? This early?...you got it!...enjoy...

* * *

**Part VII**

"So there's no way to trace the call?" Fenton Hardy, the most seemingly level-headed man in Bayport, was coming close to having a full out conniption. Frustration was taking over his senses as he confronted the situation at hand. Laura Hardy placed what she hoped was a calming hand on his arm, comforting not only her husband, but herself as well.

Con Riley drew in a deep breath letting it out nearly inaudibly. "There's no way of tracking the location. Either the phone's battery is dead or it's been destroyed."

A soft sigh from the threadbare chairs behind the trio alerted them to the fact that there were also three other parties involved in the nightmarish investigation.

"Phil?" Fenton's voice had gone from panicked to questioning as he turned to face his eldest son's best friend who was sitting accompanied by a pink eyed Callie Shaw and a distressed but surprisingly calm Andrea Bender.

"Um..." Phil fixed his slipping glasses carefully, clearing his throat. "It was destroyed. The phone I mean. It was destroyed, I heard it happen. Frank was almost hysterical, he told me about being in some motel off of the 105. Then it sounded like chaos, I heard Randal yelling, screaming." There was a deep pause. "We've got to find them." Phil's voice faltered during the last jerky sentence bringing Callie's sympathizing presence next to him quickly.

"I don't get it," Phil went on, managing only a small glance of eye contact with his friend's formidable father while accepting an encouraging, but nervous smile from Laura. "I thought Randal wanted Frank? Why would he go to the trouble of taking Joe too? Unless he didn't want any witnesses...but why then take Van?"

"Exactly. What does Vanessa have to do with this insanity?" Andrea's voice was soft but powerful, only a hint of fear seeping through her irritated exterior.

"He wanted them all. Randal is too meticulous for this not to be part of his plan. They all have their purposes in his mind," Con responded faintly, his forehead creased in thought.

Andrea met eyes with Laura as the men around them tried to reign in their emotions. The two mothers exchanged supportive glances, both handling the news of their children's fates shockingly well. But even though their appearances were placid, inside both knew the other was hurting.

"Joe won't let anything happen to Vanessa. That's one thing I can say for sure," Laura said confidently, a smile playing at her nearly trembling lips.

"And Frank won't let anything happen to Joe," Phil added. "I think they are actually pretty safe together. Everyone watching everyone else's back and all."

"But...I thought he--Randal--was only concerned about Frank? If he wanted Frank to spend time with him, why take Joe...?" Callie spoke for the first time, her voice confused and raspy. She shook her head lightly. "Won't Joe just antagonize him?"

They stood in silence for a brief moment, all considering the questions in their heads. Con finally spoke up again. "Randal must have a reason for bringing Joe along. He's done it before...past victims..." Another pause, and he came to a realization. "That means that when Joe's fulfilled his part--"

With steely eyes, Fenton finished the man's thought. "Randal will kill him."

* * *

An hour later Phil Cohen adjusted his glasses for what felt like the fiftieth time. The map beneath his steadily blurring hazel eyes seemed to laugh at his exasperation as the lines, words, and shapes blended into one uncertain mass of unhelpful.

He had been appointed to the task of studying the mind boggling maps while Mr. Hardy and Sergeant Riley set to work on readying any search parties available to the Bayport PD. Laura, Andrea, and Callie, all refusing to leave the premises, were sitting in the station's small but comfortable waiting room, each relying on the others to stay relaxed.

He squinted again, blinking to refocus and then scrubbed his thin face with his hands in frustration, the appearance of a five o'clock shadow reminding him of just what time it was and how long he had gone without sleep. It seemed like an impossible task to locate a rundown motel in the middle of nowhere, but then a surprising idea sprung inside the young man's mind.

His eyes roamed the top of the map, recognizing the date to be fairly recent. Brushing that map to the side he went through the pile, searching for a much later date of about twenty years earlier.

Phil's brow furrowed slightly as he drank in the new--or old, rather--map and its landmarks. There. His eyes landed in the upper north-west corner. A little development, not more than an insignificant few squares next to Highway 105. But it was all Phil needed.

"Found you," he whispered, a tinge of excitement in his now awakened voice. He logged the coordinates of the small ghost town into his mind, grabbed the map in a flurry, and set off to find Con Riley.

* * *

The train of rescue unit Bayport PD squad cars raced full speed down the 105, a large SUV bringing up the rear. Con Riley was at the wheel, a crackling two way radio at his lips, fighting emotions so he could think as rationally as possible like the exceptional cop he was.

Fenton Hardy sat stiffly in the front passenger seat, his knuckles white as his fingers gripped the overhead safety handle. His mind was racing through all of the possibilities, no matter how hard he tried not to think about the horrible outcomes of what he might find, he couldn't. The pictures flashed through his thoughts violently, not relieving him for a second. He squeezed his dark eyes shut watching the blackness for a moment, then opened them again and started the process of considerations all over again.

Laura Hardy, sitting directly behind her husband, pushed her blond bangs away from her face haphazardly, staring out the window at nothing in particular; just watching the vision blinding road fly by underneath them. Her sons had always gotten into trouble, their whole lives were run by chaos and adventure, they thrived on it and she always encouraged them, though her heart told her otherwise. Now her heart was a reprimanding force thumping wildly in her chest, but all she could do was hope for the best, which was an extreme challenge in and of itself. Fighting back renewed tears, she began staring at her shaking hands with terrified curiosity of what would happen next.

Andrea Bender, whose seat was opposite that of Laura's, was thinking primarily about breathing. In and out, nice and easy, don't panic, don't hyperventilate. Andrea was never one to show her emotions too openly. She had learned during her life, having already faced many challenges, not to think too hard about what was happening, but to let life take it's course, because everything happened for a reason. But at this particular moment she was wondering if her philosophy wasn't a little silly. She hoped to high heaven that whatever was happening or had happened in the motel room they were racing towards that this nightmare wasn't fate, but merely that her daughter was a victim of horrible circumstance.

Phil Cohen, sitting anxiously behind Mrs. Hardy on the bench seat he was sharing with Callie Shaw, stared at his watch. He'd been staring at the second hand timer making it's rounds for the entire drive now. It had been about forty-three minutes and twenty-two seconds since they had left the police station. He'd know the Hardy's nearly his whole life and he couldn't think of what it would be like if anything happened to them or Vanessa. Frank's voice echoed in his mind, Randal's screams and the hideous crackling of the telephone being cut off. He had never been a particularly religious person, his mother being Catholic while his father Jewish, the religions conflicting until his household became completely neutral. But at this point he decided that a little help from God--any God; all the Gods--might be beneficial to all of them, and began to silently pray.

Callie's eyes drifted between the SUV's other occupants, watching everyone's own reactions to the nervous grief they were preparing themselves for. The Hardy's family friend, a man determined to find justice. Her boyfriend's parents, the one's who had helped her through her car accident months before. Her best friend's mother, someone she could share anything with without fear of reprimand. Her close friend who was trying his hardest to be strong for her despite the situation. She was lucky to have them, but she was truly wishing that this luck would last until they found Frank, Joe, and Vanessa. But all she could do right now was wait.

* * *

A burned out neon sign hung on a large, paint peeling metal beam outside the eery looking establishment. Overgrown, browning plants and bushes surrounded the front entrance, weeds peeking up from cracked cement and asphalt. The motel was silent and deserted save for a black SUV parked out front.

Con Riley's foot made contact with the decrepit looking door of room seven, dust and wood slivers flying through the air as the door splintered open. Other officers were following his lead by breaking into the other rooms, all in simultaneously perfect motions. Gun at the ready he surveyed the dust ridden room and upon finding nothing suspicious moved onto the next door. Room number six.

This door wasn't locked. Slowly, gun steady in his hand, Riley opened the creaking door, Fenton Hardy appearing at his side with a knowing look in his worried eyes.

As Con looked in to see the imminent crime scene it was with the eyes of a police officer; calculating, detached and with as little emotion as possible.

The room was in shambles, showing clear signs of a struggle. Blood was splattered and pooling on the grimy floor. There were four bodies.

Frank Hardy, unconscious, lay at an odd angle, a pair of broken handcuffs still attached--now separately--to his wrists, a superficial looking stab wound on his right shoulder. Joe Hardy, unconscious, lay opposite his brother blood dripping from a possibly infected head wound, his face bruised, a faint red line across his neck, his skin pale, his lower half laying in a massive pool of crimson.

Between the brothers lay a man Con hoped he would never have to deal with ever again. Isaac Randal, a large stain of blood seeping from his jugular vein, puddling around his body and Joe's bodies, his skin gray, no noticeable breathing. The bloody knife that had taken Randal's life was still clutched tightly in the mad man's hand.

Con's eyes flickered to the fourth body in the room when a hair raising scream erupted from her lips.

Fenton Hardy was immediately at Vanessa's side, consoling her and untying her bound hands, his eyes scavenging his son's bodies. Con took a breath, shook emotion from his throat and turned, reaching around the door frame, his voice loud and powerful when he began shouting orders. "We've got three live ones. We need a medic, now!"


	8. Part VIII

**A/N:** So sorry for the delay. Been having lots of tech issues. My old laptop completely died and I lost everything :( But, I'm back! Hope you like this chapter, it's a bit of a cliffy...enjoy...

* * *

**Part VIII:**

As he watched medics securing two still unaware bodies to their respective gurneys, Con Riley found it hard to keep his wandering eyes off of a third, unmoving body being covered by a proverbial white sheet, crimson soaking through.

Isaac Randal, dead by his own hand, would never face a court room, a judge, or an unsympathetic jury. He would never receive justice chosen by the law, justice he deserved to endure for the rest of his life.

No, Randal had seemingly taken the easy way out. His mind finally caving in until all that made sense was death. Death to himself and everyone around him. Thankfully only one physical murder was committed at his own volition.

Vanessa Bender, under the watchful eyes of Fenton Hardy and her mother, Andrea, sat in the corner of the room, unable to move, fear tracing through her body. Shock was a serious thing, Con knew, it would take her a long while to recover.

His trembling fingers rubbed at his temples as he walked silently from the crime scene. Officers swarmed around him, taping off the entirety of the motel, searching, hunting for anything. Though they all knew what had happened and who the culprit was, processing the scene was necessary; a simple instinctive act.

The faces of Laura Hardy and her supporters were blank but knowing. Con walked towards them not as a friend, however, but as a professional. He needed to keep his facade in check for the sake of everyone else.

Lieutenant Riley's voice was soft and neutral. "Frank and Joe are alive. Frank has been stabbed. It's artificial, but it's bleeding out quite a bit. The medics are doing everything they can to hold off anything serious before they can give him a needed blood transfusion. Joe has many contusions, and an infected head wound that has been reopened more than once, but he's stable. Vanessa is in a state of shock, but the only visible sign of injury is a bruise on her temple." He took a shaky breath. "Isaac Randal is dead. Killed himself." Con decided it best to leave out the details until later when it was more appropriate.

Laura's eyes were filled with tears. Whether they were of relief, anger, grief or a combination of all three Con would never know. Phil Cohen kept a steady hand on Callie Shaw's shoulder, both managing to thank him evenly for the proffered information.

"Go with them," Con ordered. Laura immediately heeded his words, walking at a fast pace towards the ambulance that Joe was being loaded into. Phil gave Callie an encouraging, tender push and she followed Laura, heading to Frank's own ambulance, tears rushing down her cheeks.

Phil turned to Con, his eyes calm. "You have to stay here?"

Con sighed and nodded. "Yes." His own eyes wandered to room six's splintered doorway. "Hopefully Andrea and Fenton can get Vanessa out of there soon. Will you take the Benders to the hospital? Fenton will stay here I'm sure."

Phil answered softly: "Sure thing." Con handed him his keys and turned to let Andrea know of the events.

* * *

Callie touched his damp forehead tenderly, trying to hold back the tremors of panic bolting through her.

Frank looked bad. Not as bad as he could have been, she knew. But still bad nonetheless.

The paramedics had cut away his shirt to assess the damage that Isaac and his knife had caused. A large puce colored bruise was forming along his left side and dried blood rand down the length of his chest. The wound itself was fairly clean cut, but it was long and deep and Callie could barely watch as the medics started to clean it.

One of the two paramedics was female, pretty and only a few years older than Callie. She looked up sympathetically. "He's going to make it. You know that, right?"

Callie nodded softly. "This is just...hard."

The woman smiled sadly at her. "Husband?"

"Boyfriend." Callie answered automatically. "But...we hoped to...someday..."

"You will. He will be just fine. He'll need physical therapy after surgery, and it might take time to rebuild the muscle. But he's going to pull through."

"Thank you," Callie whispered. The medic went back to helping her partner, but kept up the conversation. "What's his name?"

"Frank, Frank Hardy. Why?"

"When he wakes up, it's better we know who he is when we talk to him." She paused, looking up. "Talking helps."

Callie leaned forward as much as she could without being in the way.

"How's the bleeding?" The female paramedic asked.

"Slow. But he's lost a lot already," was the rough, anxious reply.

Callie choked back a sob as she listened to their words. She brushed her fingers against Frank's jaw. "I'm here baby...It's okay...You're safe...You're going to be okay...Joe's going to be okay...It will be over so soon...I love you so much...just know that..." It was all she could say before her throat began to ache and more tears fell from her eyes as she tried hard not to imagine the nightmare he had gone through.

* * *

By the time Phil and Andrea Bender had managed to get Vanessa strapped into the front seat of Con Riley's SUV both ambulances had been gone for a good hour.

The expressway back to Bayport was fairly clear and so the ride was smooth. Although Phil couldn't say the same thing for the conversation.

"Vanessa...?" Phil attempted for the third time.

"What?" Vanessa finally snapped, her stubborn silence breaking.

Phil sighed looking to Andrea in the rearview mirror and then keeping his eyes focussed on the road. "What happened in there, Van?"

"I can't talk about this Phil. I can't, alright. I just can't!" Vanessa's voice was high and filled with pain and tears.

"Vanessa. You're going to have to talk about it sometime." Phil's demeanor was calm, even though his insides were curling with frustration about the whole entire situation. "Look, take it easy. We're going to make it through this."

"You weren't the one kidnapped by a psychotic man hell bent on ruining everyone's lives, Phil." Her tone was bitter cold.

"I know Van...but everything will be alright, okay?"

Vanessa physically turned her whole body to face him. She sobbed: "When? Tell me when Phil. When is it going to be all God damn right? I've been waiting a _long_ time and I don't see an end in sight."

"Vanessa," Andrea hissed towards her daughter, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Both she and Phil were now obviously worried about the blond's mental state after the unforeseen outburst.

"Let's just get to the hospital, Van." Phil said, his timbre warning, his eyes focused, his patience surprisingly gone. "We can all breakdown once we get there."

* * *

Laura Hardy paced, the cell phone at her ear and the voice of her husband not giving her much comfort. The hospital waiting room was bleak as she listened to Fenton giving her a stark report of the crime scene. She didn't much care for what he was telling her, but she let him talk. Such was the way a detective expressed his feelings.

Laura walked back towards the room that Joe was occupying. He was still unconscious, but his diagnosis was good. A concussion, bruises, abrasions. His head wound was being treated and after much medication would heal fine.

Though, as Laura looked into the small window peering into Joe's room, she knew that the physical was not what would be the hardest part. Joe's mental state had been fragile for most of his young adult life, but he'd dealt with it well. She hoped he could pull through with few new nightmares.

"Fenton?" Laura interrupted her husband's monotone ramblings. "When are you coming to the hospital?"

There was a thoughtful pause on the other end. "I'm on my way, hun. Hold in there."

"As always." Laura nodded, still staring at Joe's sleeping form.

* * *

Con Riley stood and stared. The scene before him would be branded into his memory forever. All he could think of was blood, blood, blood.

Frank and Joe's blood.

He shook his head. No, it wasn't only from the brother's. No, most of it was Isaac Randal's. The bastard.

Con closed his eyes and swallowed hard, unable to keep the images that he didn't want to see from forming in front of his eyes.

Frank, usually calm and supportive, trapped, defenseless. Forced to bend to the will of the madman that was obsessed with him. Joe, always smiling, always energetic, restrained, bleeding, tortured by a man he did not know for reasons unknown. Frank would have been able to do nothing as Joe struggled in front of him only three feet away. So little distance, but so little choice; they had to watch each other suffer, it was no wonder they were both unconscious when they were found, it was so much better than the alternative of being awake.

"Con?" the soft voice of Fenton Hardy interrupted his thoughts, thankfully chasing away any unwanted visions at the same time. "I'm going to the hospital. Are you staying here?"

Con faced him slowly. "No. Can we get a ride? Phil has my car."

"I'll get a black and white."

* * *

Callie sat in the little room, its claustrophobic air mainly caused by the ominous cloud now residing permanently over her head.

She held fast to Frank's unmoving hand. He was being prepped for surgery, not anything huge, just to repair his shoulder. She wondered if he would wake before they took her away from him.

"Frank?" she whispered. Callie moved her face closer to his own. "Frank? It's me, Callie. Can you hear me?"

_Yes._ Frank wanted to answer. But his entire body was refusing to cooperate with him. The haze of pain medication and his woozy, anemic state weren't helping.

"Frank, if you can hear me, I just want you to know that I love you and they're taking you to surgery, but it's not anything to worry about. You're going to be fine." Callie's voice was distant but soothing to him.

_I love you too._ He answered her mentally. Frank tried again to open his eyes. Callie gasped.

"Frank? Oh God. I'm so glad you're awake." His eyes were glazed and he was clearly confused, but Callie still couldn't keep the smile from her face as he woke up, another wonderful reminder that he was indeed very much alive.

As fast as her trembling hands could, she poured him a cup of water, helping him to drink as much as his lethargic body could.

"Joe?" It was the first word out of his mouth.

"He's fine. He's here too and he's going to pull through. Oh Frank I'm so glad you're okay. Both of you."

Knowing Joe was alive and safe had dispelled the last of the soul encompassing fear and tension that had plagued Frank throughout the entire ordeal. He suddenly found that it was replaced by an overwhelming urge to rest and allow his wounds, of body and mind, to heal. But then a flash of realization flowed across Frank's tired face. "Randal?" His mouth moved slowly to form the question.

Callie's smile faded. "He's...he's dead Frank. You're safe now, he's dead. He," she paused. "He killed himself, Frank."

There was no sign of surprise or relief in Frank's dark eyes like Callie hoped there would be.

"No...Randal...didn't kill...himself." Frank's voice was almost nonexistent, his eyes drooped shut. "I did."


	9. Part IX

**A/N:** Where have I been? I don't even know. Sorry for the wait, and sorry that this is a slight filler chapter, but still important. So read and enjoy please...

* * *

**Part IX:**

Darkness. All he saw was inky, terrifyingly clear darkness.

Was this death? Or was he still trapped in the all too real nightmare that had so recently become his life?

A bloody puce tinted shadow assaulted his still grainy vision. Joe's eyes did not open on the first try. His muscles were weak and his motivation weaker, so staring at the oddly lit underside of his eyelids was the best he could do for the moment.

"Joseph." It was not an entirely unfamiliar voice; a man's voice, soft, authoritative and concerned. Not his father, no, the even tone sounded more like Frank that anyone else.

His breathing picked up. In a moment of painful revelation Joe remembered everything. With a jolt of fearful adrenaline Joe's eyes opened. The frantic blue orbs were met not with the familiar chocolate brown he hopefully expected, but with a calm pair of cool grey ones.

Dr. Simon Bates laid a gentle hand on Joe's shoulder, comforting the young man but predominately holding him down safely on the stark hospital bed. Having treated Joe for the last twenty-one years he was well aware of the blond Hardy's stubbornly impulsive tendencies.

But Dr. Bates was not an old man like his silver tinted hair might portray, in fact he was actually a few years younger than his trusted friend Fenton Hardy, but the obvious stress of his job was not hidden.

"Joe," the doctor's voice was still placid, but his kind smile showed his relief. "Glad to have you back with us."

Joe's sallow skin brightened slightly as he took a deep, reassuring breath. His first words, not unlike his brother's, were rough concern for his sibling. "How's Frank?"

"He's out of surgery and he's doing well." Dr. Bates removed his strong hand and sat next to Joe.

"Surgery?" Joe whispered, not making eye contact and staring off into nothingness as his thoughts went into overdrive. He shifted slightly, a curious hand reaching up painfully to feel a length of white gauze wrapped around his head protecting a thick bandage that clung to the aching gash on his forehead.

"He had an extensively damaging knife wound, Joe." There was a pause and no one spoke. The silence was deafening. "Joe? Do you remember what happened?" The young Hardy nodded cautiously, not sure what would come out if he spoke.

Dr. Bates ran his eyes worriedly over his uncharacteristically frail looking patient. "The police will be by later, maybe in a couple of hours. They need statements from you and Frank as soon as possible. I know it will be hard on you so soon after, but..." He trailed off uncertainly. "I know it sounds bad, but the fresher it is in your mind the more accurate the police report will be." Simon Bates paused to recollect his thoughts. Joe was still not making eye contact. "Do you think you can do that, Joe?"

Silence encompassed the room. Joe nodded again, this time more hesitant than cautious of his wound. Isaac Randal's cruel, red tinged face fizzed in his mind, an image tattooed in his mind forever. He nodded one more time, closed his eyes lightly, signifying the end of the conversation and began to drift between reality and his own vibrant memories.

Even if Isaac Randal was dead, Joe Hardy would still bring him to justice, no matter what.

* * *

A floor below them Frank and Phil sat in similar silence. As the hours passed Phil sat fidgeting in the bedside chair, trying hard to find some reason for this vicious attack on his friends, and justification for the backlash that was to come.

When Frank had been taken into surgery Callie had exited his hospital room in a pale, barely coherent gaze. She refused to admit that she needed to go home and rest, so she sat mutely with the Benders and Mrs. Hardy unable to face Frank, even in his unconscious state, and also unable to recount the conversation she had held with him several hours earlier with anyone.

Laura Hardy visited the hospital room once briefly and they talked, but then she left again to sit with the girls upstairs with the assurance that Phil would let her know as soon as Frank woke up.

Despite the tediousness of the responsibility Phil stayed where he was contently, he had promised Callie and even though he was concerned by her bizarre actions he wouldn't break his vow.

In the opposite position from the young man, laying barely moving in the hospital bed, Frank slept through it all.

In his mind he saw Isaac Randal. So twisted with delusions that he would switch from violent to euphoric at the drop of a dime. He saw Isaac's sickening black car, the decrepit "home" of his childhood, so full of pain even before they had arrived there. Next were flashes of the torture they had endured: duct tape, handcuffs, a sharp, glinting knife. And then finally, in stark detail and high quality images Frank saw Isaac Randal die. He saw himself kill him and then he awoke with a start.

"Isaac? Where?"

It took Phil a moment to react. He had been sitting so long in quiet stillness waiting for some kind of sign of life from Frank that when the young man awoke suddenly, gasping and wide eyed he wasn't sure what was happening. It didn't take him long to figure it out and then he moved swiftly, buzzing a nurse and standing close to the bed.

"Frank, it's all right, it's all right, you're safe," Phil assured him, seeing the wild look in his eyes diminish as Frank took in his surroundings. "Randal's dead, you're in the hospital."

Frank locked eyes with Phil and nodded, relaxing as his breathing evened out. He laid his head back down, closing his eyes as he remembered everything that had happened.

"Right, I remember." A few more deep breaths. "How long have I been out?" he asked, his voice dry.

"A couple of hours," Phil said, as he handed him a glass of water. Frank realized he was very thirsty and drank greedily.

"Thanks," He rubbed his eyes once and then asked immediately, "How's Joe? Can I see him?"

"He's upstairs, he's fine, just tired from what I've heard," Phil replied. "I don't know when you will be able to see him though. But, maybe he will be able to come down here."

Frank closed his eyes and sighed heavily, reigning in the moisture trying to escape from beneath his lids, "Okay." A pause.

"Hey, I know this isn't gonna count for much but I'm sorry for what happened to you guys. We're all gonna be here for you if you need anything, no matter how big or small. Don't hesitate to ask Frank," Phil said, his voice resonating with the epitome of support.

Frank smiled briefly from within his depressed, still drowsy state, "Thanks but I'll be all right, I've dealt with Isaac before, I survived. I'm just worried about Joe, he never should have been there," he replied, his voice becoming a dark whisper at the end, overflowing with guilt.

Phil laid a hand on his best friend's good shoulder. "None of this was your fault, Frank, none of it. It was all Randal."

"Yeah. I'll try to remember to tell myself that, but somehow I don't think I'll ever believe it," he said cynically, then tried to push himself into a sitting position and jarred his injured shoulder. "Oh god," he moaned, his eyes widening, almost having forgotten he was hurt.

"Frank, I don't think you should move until a doctor sees you," Phil said wisely, though his face showed only nervous concern.

"That's excellent advice Mr. Cohen."

Both men jumped at the voice, Frank's nerves shaky and Phil still not used to so little silence.

"How are you feeling Frank?" Dr. Bates asked, quickly checking Frank's pupils and writing on his chart haphazardly.

Frank averted his usually kind eyes away from the doctor and stared at the IV in his hand, the dark orbs haunted. "I'm all right considering."

Simon Bates looked unimpressed, but nodded anyways. "Your arm should heal up nicely. It'll take a few weeks to heal and some physio but after that you should have full mobility again. Other than that you're basically fine except for a mild concussion and the lacerations on your wrists, they were rather deep. I've been informed that you were attacked, do you want to talk about it?" Though Dr. Bates was just doing his job, he was also curious and worried as the Hardy's friend.

Frank ignored the question all together, purposefully. "Are you attending to Joe? Have you seen him yet?"

Bates turned to Phil with a slight look of anxious exasperation, but then looked back to Frank to answer his question. "You're brother is fine. He's resting now, but I'm sure you can see him soon--"

There was a knock at the room's open doorway. "How about right now?"

Joe's blond curls were matted and there were still traces of blood near his head wound, his eyes were bright compared to the purple bags beneath them, and his smile was slightly crooked as he peered in at the three men from his seated position in a hospital issue wheel chair.

Dr. Bates scowled, but there was a hint of amusement in his quizzical stare. "Joseph, what are you doing out of bed. How did you--"

Joe held up his hand to stop the doctor's rant. "Don't worry about it Doc, I'm fine. Besides, the nurse said I could come visit my brother." There was a mischievous sparkle in his ever charismatic eyes.

Phil Cohen couldn't hold back a grin as he put a hand on Frank's good shoulder again. "I'll go talk to your mom, tell her you're doing okay." As he edged around Joe their hands met in a casual handshake, a truly pleased smile on Joe's face for once in the past days.

"Dr. Bates?" the blond said, the smile never fading.

The doctor rolled his eyes slightly as Joe Hardy's charm rubbed off. At least the young man was more himself than he was earlier, he thought silently. "Five minutes," he said, holding up five fingers in front of Joe to prove his point.

"Thanks Doc."

As soon as Dr. Bates had left the small room and closed the door behind him, a thick and uncomfortable silence filled the space like a humid cloud. The only sound was the slow hum of machines and the soft beep of Frank's heart monitor.

Joe rolled slowly to the side of Frank's bed, his pleasant smile erased from his once again pale features. Frank looked at his brother with sad eyes. "How are you?"

Joe's mouth trembled before he spoke. "Fine."

"You don't look fine." Frank furrowed his eyebrows. "Why were you pretending in front of them? What's the point anymore?"

"I needed to see you." Joe studied the stark floor rigidly. "It was the only way."

"Joe...I'm sorry."

"_Don't apologize._" Joe's voice was harsher than Frank ever expected. Their eyes met sharply and Joe spoke again, this time softer. "Please, Frank."

There was a pause and Frank nodded finally. "What did you want to see me about?"

A clear tear slid out from beneath Joe's lashes and Frank's fingers formed a fist around the white sheet covering the lower half of his body. "Joe?"

"I have to give the police my statement." His voice was rough and quivering. Frank's heart tore into two cold pieces. He inched carefully towards the edge of the bed and placed his hand gently against his brother's arm. Joe flinched for only a second.

Frank spoke in a pain filled whisper. "Just tell them the truth, Joe. That's all. Just the truth."

Joe choked, but nodded once. "The truth."

His eyes looked up at Frank's shadowy face. Joe wasn't sure he could recount the truth, because he wasn't even sure himself what was real and what was false anymore.

His world had suddenly gone from harsh black and white to a horrible, life changing grey that would haunt his thoughts forever.

_And it was all his brother's fault._


	10. Part X

**A/N:** Wow, I can't believe it's been that long since I last updated this. I apologize, even though I know sorry's don't make up for the wait, so without further ado, the last chapter of Brother, Dear Brother sans an epilogue I will post soon.

* * *

**Part X:**

Callie Shaw sat in the hospital's excuse for a cafeteria, her long fingers wrapped around a styrofoam cup of cold tea. She hadn't taken one sip yet.

"Hey." Callie jumped, nearly spilling her beverage. She closed her eyes, breathing roughly, annoyed with herself. Unclenching her eyes, she was met with Vanessa's pale features.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

Callie laughed dryly. "Don't apologize. I'm just...feeling paranoid right now, you know?"

Vanessa sat down across from her and nodded her head slowly. Callie's gaze wondered to her friend's hands laying flat against the white plastic table. Her wrists were raw and glowed an uncomfortable looking red.

"I should be the one apologizing," Callie whispered uneasily. "I'm acting like _I_ was the one attacked and kidnapped."

Vanessa placed her hand comfortingly over Callie's, she could feel the tremble running through the petite girl's muscles. The ash blond frowned and furrowed her brows in concern. "Cal, you're shaking."

Callie recoiled, tucking her arms under the table, and stared slightly past Vanessa's confused features. "I'm fine."

"When you spoke to Frank...did he tell you anything?" The question was so out of the blue that Callie couldn't help the gasp from emanating past her thin lips.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she bit out, defending herself unnecessarily.

Vanessa gave her a pointed look. "I know you talked to him. I saw your face when you left his room. What did he tell you?"

"He didn't tell me anything." Callie's voice had grown anxious and uptight. "He asked where he was. He asked for a nurse."

"Callie," Vanessa said softly. "You know you can tell me. Please don't block me out."

Callie's already bloodshot eyes grew heavy and glistened with unshed tears of fear and tension. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it before the sob she felt rising in her throat could escape. Her breathing went from mellow to erratic and a small tear rolled from the corner of her eye. "I-I...can't."

Vanessa opened her mouth in rebuttal but didn't even get her first word out before Callie looked up through red rimmed eyes. "I can't tell anyone." Her voice was uncharacteristically steely.

Vanessa immediately backed down, shocked by Callie's intensity, but for some reason, intuition maybe, she seemed to understand. "I respect that. But, just know I'm here if you ever decide you want to talk. About _anything_."

Callie gave her a faint, apologetic smile, but when the lanky blond stood up to leave, Callie's hand shot out impulsively to catch her hand. "Wait."

Vanessa made eye contact hesitantly before sitting back down, cautious, not wanting to do anything to cause Callie to revert back to her harsh, introverted mood.

Callie choked back a sigh and started out quietly. "Van...if-if Joe were to tell you something-something he'd...done. Something that would cause him to...maybe...get into an inconvenient...mess...would you-would you tell anybody about it? Especially if he hadn't exactly been...very coherent at the time...or didn't explicitly tell you _not_ to tell anyone."

For being in a state of troubling denial, Callie seemed to be giving away a lot more terrifying information in her hypothetical questioning than Vanessa was sure what to do with.

"Cal," Vanessa asked slowly, still trying not to jar the situation too abruptly. "What did Frank tell you?"

Callie wasn't sure if it was the pressure, lack of sleep or her meager energy levels that was getting to her, but she couldn't hold back any longer. "He-he..." The tears flowed readily down her stricken face now. "He told me that-that he..._killed Isaac Randal_."

* * *

Joe's bloodshot eyes stared pointedly ahead of him at nothing in particular, his breathing soft and low.

"Are you sure you're alright Joe? We can do this later if you want?" Con Riley's gaze was of a concerned friend rather than the ragged cop he had been portraying the last few hours.

"No." Joe's voice was hollow. "I want to do it now." There was a pause and he took in a deep, shaking breath. "While it's still...fresh."

Con cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I understand."

Although he didn't understand. Not in the slightest. Riley didn't understand how a man, maniac or not, could torment such innocent people as the Hardys. Joe hadn't done anything to warrant the current state he had been left in, nothing more than being a good brother and friend.

Con's fist tightened as his mind berated Isaac Randal's actions over and over again. He sighed hastily, trying to calm his nerves and tried to look into Joe's dead blue eyes. "Whenever you're ready."

* * *

In a hospital room identical to Joe's, the older Hardy was receiving very similar treatment from a haggard looking Ezra Collig.

"It's alright to be nervous, Frank," Collig said, acknowledging the shaky look adorning the brunette's usually calm features.

Frank nodded slowly, shifting his body weight anxiously, careful not to jar his injured arm. "I know." He blinked a few times. "I just want to get it out and be done with this."

Collig allowed his eyes to roam Frank's exhausted and ravaged looking body sympathetically. "I understand." He sighed, "Let's begin."

* * *

"...Isaac had a gun...duct tape...he got irritated easily...had a knife...worn down motel...something about his mother...threw Joe down...passed out..."

A seemingly permanent film of moisture made Frank's eyes glisten as Collig listened carefully, trying to keep his reactions as neutral as possible while Frank told him about the hellish events of the past few days.

"...It was horrible...then Isaac made it worse..."

* * *

"...He had Vanessa, a gun to her head...I thought I would die..."

Joe's eyes stared at the tape recorder Con was using to record his statement. His throat felt like it was on fire and his lips quivered.

"...We found the cell phone...called Phil...Randal was angry...Frank tried to stop him...held the knife to my throat...threatened Frank...his eyes full of psychotic passion...terrified...then Frank started to yell..."

* * *

"...I tried to intimidate Isaac, give him an ultimatum...I couldn't stop them...Joe kicked out at Isaac and made a grab for the knife...he tackled Joe..."

* * *

"...I was trying not to panic...Frank was still screaming...he told Randal that it was enough...then he did something I never expected..."

* * *

Frank had stopped, pausing to collect his thoughts, and looked Chief Collig straight in the eyes. "I did it to save him, save my brother...but, I-I hurt him...and once I started...I couldn't stop...I had to make Isaac believe me, I needed to show him I finally understood..."

* * *

There was no stopping the tears now. Con felt his heart lurch as Joe Hardy spoke through his emotions and shaking, sobbing breaths.

"...Frank said I was worthless...a worthless brother...he took Randal's side...he didn't love me...he didn't need me anymore...he had Isaac...he was going to let him kill me..."

Joe took a deep breath and went on more confidently. _At least the worst of it's out,_ Con thought sadly.

"...it was awful...I knew it couldn't be true, what Frank was saying...but there was a piece of me...that believed him...I was worthless...It was all happening too fast...I couldn't keep my mind straight...

"...Randal and I were both fighting for control of the knife..." Joe sat up straighter in his hospital bed and held his hands in front of him, demonstrating to Con. "...but after Frank said those things...I lost my will...my strength...I stopped fighting back...I was...I was ready to die..."

* * *

"...I felt so guilty...I could see Joe backing down...losing because of me...and Isaac...Isaac was so happy with me that he was losing focus too...I pulled one last time at the cuff and felt the chain break...then my adrenaline took over..."

* * *

"...Frank grabbed the knife...I knew what was going to happen...I knew I was going to die...I closed my eyes...so I wouldn't have to see him do it..."

* * *

"...I had the knife...and for a second everything seemed to stop...Joe was still...Isaac seemed to be in unsure shock...I used the moment to my advantage..."

Frank's fists were buried deep in the sheets across his legs, clenching the stark fabric tightly.

"...I stabbed Isaac...hard and clean...he was dead instantly...I thought..."

Frank's breathing picked up and his heart monitor began beeping incessantly. Collig looked towards the machine worriedly. "Frank, we can stop-"

"No. I need to do this." Frank's eyes were determined. "I let my guard down. Isaac grabbed the knife out of my hand. Blood was everywhere. I thought I was going to die...worse, I thought Joe was going to die.

"Isaac didn't get far though. And I dodged his swing, but not quite enough." He gestured to the bandage on his arm painfully.

"God," Collig whispered moments later after all that had been said finally settled in. "Frank, I'm sorry-" he added, attempting sympathy before the older Hardy interrupted him again.

"It doesn't matter, it's over now. Isaac Randal is dead and he will _never_ hurt me or my brother ever again."

* * *

By the time Frank actually got to see his brother the next day he'd been accosted by a teary eyed Callie in need of consoling and explanations, still frightened mothers, an answer seeking father, and a supportive set of friends.

But right then, all he wanted to do was see Joe, which, after everything, was the most terrifying thing he'd had to do over the past few days.

"Joe's tough." Phil had said. "From what you told Collig he took everything Randal gave him and still fought back. He'll be fine and he won't stop fighting until he is. He's too damn stubborn."

Frank had to admit that Phil was right. But what bothered him the most was that Joe had indeed fought back against everything Isaac dished out, but when Frank took over Joe gave up in a heartbeat.

Guilt washed over him as he placed his hand on Joe's door. It had taken him a while to get to the room, his wheelchair an added hindrance. But even after all that extra time to think he still was finding it hard to come up with something, anything, to say to his brother.

When he entered the room Joe was sitting up and awake, but didn't bother looking in his direction. However, Frank did notice his brother's body tense when he started rolling to the edge of his bed and his heart clenched painfully.

Frank racked his brain for something to say and after a long moment of silence could only come up with, "Hey Joe."

Joe did not reply at first, making Frank's nervousness elevate. When he finally did speak it was slow and soft. "I told Con the truth, Frank."

Frank smiled sadly up at the blond boy, his demeanor making him seem like a child once again, like the baby brother Frank remembered from years ago. But, when Joe finally looked at him, all innocence and carefree shine was gone from his eyes.

Frank's breath caught in his throat as Joe stared at him hollowly. Swallowing hard he replied, "So did I."

Joe nodded thoughtfully, averting his eyes again. "Okay. Then tell me something, Frank."

Frank answered immediately, "Anything." He waited with baited breath for Joe's question.

"What is the truth?"

Caught off guard Frank furrowed his brows confusedly. "Whatever you told the police, Joe, that's the truth-"

"No!" Joe raised his voice and twisted his body to face his brother more fully. His voice softened, "No. Please, tell me the real truth, Frank. Please."

Joe's eyes begged and Frank's chest throbbed as a sudden, anxious heat fell over his body. He reached out to put a reassuring hand on his brother's arm but Joe flinched away and Frank recoiled in sorrowful shock.

After a few painfully silent moments Frank spoke, not able to take his eyes off his clenched fists. "Isaac Randal kidnapped us and wanted to hurt you to get to me. He even brought Vanessa, but he didn't really hurt her, just threatened. We were both tied up and he was hurting you so much…and I couldn't stop him. I-I couldn't do anything, I couldn't move, but I wanted to. I wanted to so bad, Joe. So I did the only thing I could think of. I made Isaac believe I was his friend, to get him to stop hurting you. I said some horrible things to you Joe…"

Joe cringed and pulled back suddenly, as if this memory hurt more than that of Crane's fist. Frank's words floated through his head over and over, but he had hoped somehow it wasn't real, that it hadn't happened because that betrayal hurt so much more than any physical injury could.

"Those things you said…were real?" Joe asked with utter dejection and disbelief.

"No!" Frank said firmly, leaning closer to his brother. This time Joe didn't flinch away. "I said those things, but they weren't real. I didn't mean any of it Joe, but I needed to fool Isaac, and I had to make it believable enough that it would fool you too or Isaac wouldn't have believed it. The things I said were horrible, but none of it was true, none of it, I don't believe a word of what I said to you. You are my brother and my best friend and I love you, Joe. But most of all, I would never hurt you like that. I swear, I was trying to protect you. I'm sorry."

Joe responded faster than Frank assumed he would after his heartfelt speech. "And you killed him to protect me too, right?"

Joe's words hit Frank full force. Self defense or not, no matter what the circumstances, he had killed someone, permanently. Isaac Randal's blood would forever be on his hands and he was only now beginning to realize it.

Tears flowed with realization and Frank bowed his head as he formed the words in disbelief, "I killed a man, I killed him."

"For me."

Joe's voice was unexpected and Frank's head shot up to meet his gaze. "You killed him for me. To protect me," Joe said again, partly to have Frank confirm it, and partly to make himself believe it, for it was almost unbelievable.

Frank brushed away the wetness from his face and nodded, unable to speak any more except for a weak, "Yeah."


End file.
